


Legally Binding

by Valvopus



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Accidental Marriage, Alternate Universe - Human, Anxious Aziraphale (Good Omens), Chekhov's Dildo, Crowley is a Mess (Good Omens), Ducks, Eventual Happy Ending, Fainting Goat Crowley, Family Issues, Fluff and Humor, Footnotes, Human Aziraphale (Good Omens), Human Crowley (Good Omens), Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Ineffable Idiots (Good Omens), Light Angst, M/M, Misunderstandings, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pining, ineffable bathtubs, the angst got less light
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-28
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:08:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 65,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23894350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Valvopus/pseuds/Valvopus
Summary: Aziraphale wakes up and wishes he wasn't naked in a bathtub with Crowley. He really wishes he remembered what happened the previous night. Crowley just wants to fix things and make sure Aziraphale doesn't stop speaking to him again, because they seem to have done something truly stupid.An accidentally married AU. This fic is mostly set before said marriage. Each chapter is immediate aftermath of waking up married, alongside the backstory of their developing relationship.Human AU
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 126
Kudos: 203





	1. A Garden Party

Aziraphale was cold. Well, half of him was cold, the half pressed into the empty bath he had apparently fallen asleep in. The other half was covered by what his brain, once it had started up, told him was another person. A warm and _very definitely_ naked person. Although no more naked than Aziraphale himself. He chanced a glance, Crowley. Of course it would be Crowley. The single worst person it could have been.[1] Aziraphale closed his eyes, in large part because it was so very bright in the bathroom it hurt. He needed to work out a way to get out of the bath. Preferably without waking Crowley, who was thoroughly curled around him. It was hopeless, there was absolutely no way he would be able to move Crowley enough to escape without waking the man up. The best he could do was pretend to be asleep and hope that when Crowley woke up, he would extract himself and they wouldn’t need to ever acknowledge what happened. Whatever that was, aside from waking up naked in a bath.

There was something else nagging at him too. Some detail he needed to remember from the previous night. He remembered dinner, and Anathema suggesting tequila shots and something about signatures.

* * *

Aziraphale hated corporate events, even those masquerading as birthday celebrations of top customers. He loathed being forced to recite company lines and spend whole days trying not to be an embarrassment. Especially once the buffet had been reduced to an overly warm leftovers pile. He wasn’t even supposed to be there, except Michael was busy and Gabriel as a rule didn’t socialize with clients lest it sully his decision making which required he see everyone as expendable in pursuit of greater profits.[2] Which meant the spare ticket, after several conversations about the company’s concerns, had been passed to him. As events go it was hardly the biggest, which was why he had been trusted, albeit reluctantly, to help represent the business. True, he didn’t actually _work_ for the company, but he was family which was close enough that the organizers wouldn’t think it was a slight for him to be sent. He probably knew enough about how it all worked to satisfy any small talk he was expected to do. Not that anyone had spoken to him at all in the three hours he had been nervously pottering around the garden and probably drinking more wine than was strictly polite.[3] Even the waitstaff had taken to avoiding him which, given they had been supplying said wine, was very much a decline in proceedings.

Aziraphale suspected his ongoing attempt to appear happy to stand quietly to the side of the garden sipping wine was not going as well as he hoped. It would have been nice to have somebody to talk to, being cheerful and polite for hours on end without anyone even noticing much less caring was starting to tire him out. Aziraphale had been more comfortable earlier in the day before the mass of people wearing expensive suits had shown up. It had been quieter then, easier to reassure himself that he wasn’t being left alone on purpose. Most appeared to have their partner with them, which Aziraphale realised gave all of them at least one person who could stand their company for the afternoon. Gabriel hadn’t even mentioned Aziraphale bringing somebody as a possibility. Not that Aziraphale would have someone to ask in any case. An idle thought obviously, anyone he did wanted to fill that role would never be seen as an appropriate person to do so. Aziraphale realized that would be the case many years ago and had been trying to distance himself from his family ever since. The bookshop, while being the last straw for the siblings that had been trying to keep him in line and up to what they saw as company standards, had also been a place of solace from the even present demand that he get over whatever aspect of himself was currently displeasing his family.

“Wine?” Aziraphale blinked at the red-headed, wine-carrying man who had appeared before him. The man seemed to be offering him a drink. Aziraphale couldn’t remember the last time that had happened. The smile he was giving Aziraphale was almost sinful, especially with the sunglasses hiding his eyes. People didn’t smile at Aziraphale like that, which he was fine with.[4] That wasn’t something that he got to enjoy, although really, he was lucky it wasn’t worse. Except apparently this man did smile at him like that. And offered Aziraphale a drink. He looked like he belonged on a catwalk, especially wearing trousers that Aziraphale suspected could appear in the dictionary next to the word temptation.

A braver Aziraphale would have dragged him off into the house to find somewhere private and see what was hidden, incredibly poorly, by said trousers. As it was, he instead noticed the man was in fact offering him a drink because he was a waiter and had a tray covered in wine glasses. He grabbed one quickly trying to pretend he couldn’t feel himself blushing.[5] Of course the man was just doing his job, it wasn’t like a man like _that_ was going to take any interest in Aziraphale at all. With some luck, people would have continued to ignore Aziraphale and not noticed him getting flustered over being offered a drink. He just needed to last a couple more hours without embarrassing the company and then he could go back to his bookshop and no doubt add this to the reel of embarrassing moments that he relived at inopportune moments.

“Oh yes. I do apologize. I was miles away.”

“Wish I was.”

“I’m sorry?” Aziraphale hadn’t really been expecting a reply. Or for the man to pull out a phone and start playing on it one handed while the other precariously balanced a tray.

“Miles away, this is awful.”

“I see.[6] I’m sorry do you actually work here?” The man glanced around and shrugged,

“Got an apron and a tray.” Which was a resounding no.

Aziraphale took a few seconds then realized that there was no way the man could be mistaken for one of the event staff. For a start it wasn’t even the same type of apron, a short black thing that tied around the waist was very clearly not the full sized, somewhat alarming purple uniform the rest of the staff were wearing. The tray was similar, but very definitely a different design and to add to that, the wine glasses were actually full not just half filled in a way suggesting while more wine was indeed available, it would be given out at appropriate intervals. And yet no one else seemed to have spotted this glaring oddity. The man grinned at Aziraphale before wandering off. Despite the glasses Aziraphale got the very definitely impression that he had winked.

Aziraphale watched the fake waiter for a while as he milled around not actually serving anybody drinks. At one point he took a glass for himself drinking seeming to inhale most of it in a few seconds. No one noticed. Aziraphale wasn’t sure how other people weren’t noticing. The man had clearly never actually served drinks before, judging from the quantity of wine that sloshed from the glasses as he moved the tray too quickly. Aziraphale looked around the garden, he really should speak to somebody. Not one of the other guests obviously, the last thing he wanted was for the strange man to be associated with the company. Well, the last thing Gabriel would want at least. But he couldn’t speak to the staff. For a start there was the chance that he was wrong, after all it wasn’t as though anybody else thought there was something strange about what was happening. Possibly he could mention the man to somebody else as a passing comment, but that would require someone to speak to him and so far, that hadn’t happened. He needed to find the right person to speak with. Preferably somebody who wouldn’t remember it was Aziraphale himself who was mentioning it, thus saving any potential embarrassment to the company.[7]

The man finished a second glass of wine before jumping into the house through an open window. He went past several guests and yet no one seemed to find this behaviour strange. Or notice him at all. Although Aziraphale himself hadn’t noticed the man before he offered Aziraphale wine. Had the man been there the entire time? It seemed unlikely, Aziraphale had been people watching for most of the afternoon and at no point had he noticed him. The sound of glass shattering made the conversation around him stop for a moment before it resumed once everyone had established it wasn’t their own wine glasses. Aziraphale spotted a window open and the man hopped through it back outside now carrying a large brush as he hurried back into the house through the door. Which Aziraphale was quite happy to classify as bizarre. A thought nagged at him that, armed with a brush, no one would question someone hurrying through the building presumably towards the broken glass. He really needed to speak to someone about this. He just wasn’t sure who. He drank some more wine.

It was something of a surprise that the man appeared beside him again a short while later. Apparently not bothering to even pretend he was serving drinks since reappearing outside. Aziraphale looked back to the catering tent the man had sauntered out of moments earlier. There was a small amount of smoke and what smelt like burning electronics beginning to billow through the doorway.

“How long do these things last anyway? Much longer and I’m going to need to go find more wine.” Aziraphale glanced nervously as the man watched several actual waitstaff hurry to put out the fire.

“A few hours at least,” Aziraphale swallowed, “I don’t usually come to these things. Don’t really know anyone.” The man, and Aziraphale was going to need to work out what to call him so he could tell Anathema about this when she visited the shop, raised an eyebrow as Aziraphale trailed off. This was almost certainly not the small talk Gabriel had instructed him to do. Wine, he should drink more wine. Then he wouldn’t need to say anything.

“Well you haven’t been missing much. They’re all like this really. Lots of standing around pretending they like each other. The orgy doesn’t usually start until about six.”

Aziraphale triumphantly didn’t spit out the wine in his mouth but it was a close thing. He coughed, trying to remember breathing and how to exist without humiliating himself constantly. The man patted Aziraphale on the back, clearly amused at the reaction.

“Sorry, couldn’t resist. Not like you’d even want it to descend into an orgy with this lot. Any idea when they’re going to get to the speeches? Bloody hard to keep track of everyone while they’re all just standing around chatting. Thought there was supposed to be some kind of presentation.”

Aziraphale hadn’t known about the slideshow but he wasn’t surprised. It was probably a chance for people to talk about how close they were with the host and how much the person inspired them and so on. Aziraphale tried not to think about his last birthday party. He hated every second of it. Especially the slideshow that had been put together by some well-meaning party planner which seemed to solely feature group shots of Aziraphale and his siblings on family holidays where he had been miserable and had clearly been put together in under ten minutes. He wasn’t even in a good number of them. Not that his family noticed as the two that did speak mostly talked about the family business, which Aziraphale wanted no part in.

“Oh, that won’t be for another half hour at least.”[8]

“Well there goes that plan.” Aziraphale waited to see what the man would do. Hopefully, leave. Except this was the only person at this whole party who wanted to speak to him, even if he was very clearly not supposed to be at the party. The man stretched, his shirt lifting at the sides revealing pale skin below. Aziraphale snapped his eyes up, he was there to represent the company, not eye up a man who from what Aziraphale could tell had stolen quite a lot of wine, smashed something in the house and set fire to a tent for unknown reasons. Aziraphale definitely needed to speak to somebody about this. If anyone noticed that Aziraphale seemed to be happily chatting away rather than saying anything, then that wouldn’t reflect well. If they noticed the interest Aziraphale had been taking in the man, that would be much, much worse.

“Don’t suppose you know who Mark Frayton is?”

“Oh, well he’s that gentleman over near the laptop, blue shirt.” The man’s gaze shot up to where Aziraphale was pointed then turned back to the phone he was typing furiously on.

“His laptop?”

“Oh, well I would assume so,”

“Perfect, thanks.” Aziraphale waited a moment,

“Do you need to speak to him?”

“Nope.” Across the garden a phone dinged. Mark pulled out his phone and his expression dropped as he looked at the screen. White-faced and clearly panicking he finished his drink and hurried away.

“Thanks,” the man walked across the garden, picked up the laptop with a few words about making sure it gets back to him and wandered off pressing buttons as he walked. Aziraphale watched him go and hoped no one would ask him too difficult questions.

* * *

[1] There were certainly many people Aziraphale was less fond of and in fact would have been worse, Aziraphale at that moment couldn’t name a single one.

[2] Aziraphale might have mentally added that last part.

[3] What an appropriate level of pissed is for every social occasion hadn’t actually been on syllabus for his days at university but nonetheless he had gained a fairly good understanding.

[4] Or at least, he was used to it.

[5] This was a failure.

[6] Aziraphale did not see.

[7] Before Aziraphale arrived at the party, he had nodded his way through a longer than necessary lecture about not embarrassing the company. Gabriel was always terrible at delivering messages.

[8] While Aziraphale hadn’t known this slideshow existed, he did know how corporate events worked. There was still far too much alcohol circulating to expect guests to be cajoled into standing quietly and watching a screen.


	2. Unexpected Meetings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things become slightly clearer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we have reached the plot!

Crowley hadn’t so much got up as jumped near-vertically out of the bath and promptly fell over. He had been enjoying curling around another person right up until he realized that person was Aziraphale. Which should have made it even better, literally dream levels of enjoyment should have been achieved. Except Aziraphale definitely did not feel that way.[1] So a drunken hook up was a little out there to begin with.

And after a minute or so of trying to remember how exactly they had ended up in a strange bathroom, sleeping in a bath sans clothes, he had spotted something that made him slightly panic.[2] A wedding ring. With Aziraphale wearing a matching one. Did Aziraphale remember anything? Crowley certainly didn’t, not that his brain had the spare capacity for remembering at that moment, it was very much focused on how much he had fucked up, and seemingly throwing itself against the inside of his skull in an attempted intervention again him ever considering drinking tequila again.

Crowley looked at himself in the mirror, which was a mistake.[3] Naked. Right. A glance told Crowley that Aziraphale was similarly protesting against the existence of clothes. He hadn’t quite turned away before he saw a twitch. The _utter bastard_ wasn’t actually asleep. His eyes were closed but everything else was wrong. Too much tension in the shoulders, shallow breaths as though trying not to let his chest move. Apparently facing Crowley having achieved truly incredible levels of drunkenness and, from what Crowley was piecing together, _got married_ was too much to ask of the man. Crowley mentally awarded himself a pile of trophies for not turning the shower on cold over him in retaliation. Instead he picked some confetti from his hair, more damning evidence, and slipped out of the room. Clothes, he needed clothes.

The quest for clothes hit a stumbling block as Crowley looked around the hotel room; not his, probably Aziraphale’s given the number of books stacked carefully by the bed. The very obviously used bed, as if Crowley hadn’t been able to feel that since he woke up. Apparently, they had been too drunk to replace the lid and lube had been leaking from the bottle all night. Crowley didn’t bring any with him so again, probably Aziraphale’s. The sunglasses he had found by standing on the shards of broken lenses near the window were his, although that wasn’t particularly helpful given their current state. He had spare ones in his suitcase, not that he could get to them without finding clothes and keys. Some more exploring gained him one shoe and his trousers, sadly reeking of whatever liquid had been spilt on them. Probably from the half empty prosecco bottle that had been abandoned with what appeared to be most of Aziraphale’s clothes. A pair of tartan pyjamas were neatly folded at the foot of the bed. [4] Crowley snagged the trousers and tried to convince them to stay up, it was a precarious victory. Ideally, he needed a shower and caffeine but working out what the fuck they had done was a more pressing issue, especially with the unfamiliar weight of the ring reminding him of the mess he had made. He paused outside the bathroom door, still no noise from inside. Aziraphale was probably going to wait until he had definitely left the room before moving, eliminate any chance of having to deal with it before enough time passed for plausible deniability. Crowley grabbed some clothes from the wardrobe to shove in the bathroom.

Crowley took a breath, not that he hadn’t been breathing the entire time, it was more a case of this one turning into a defeated sigh on its way out that was notable. He could fix this. Had to. It wasn’t as though Aziraphale was going to be delighted at the situation.

* * *

Aziraphale didn’t think about the strange man again after the party. Or more accurately, a few weeks after the party when he had run out of points to discuss with Anathema. He had given up on the hopes of finding out who he was from anyone who had been in attendance. He had also realized that there was a good chance his description of the man to Anathema was likely thanks to the same source as the awful hangover he had woken up with the next morning. Aziraphale had tried not to notice the similarity his ever-extending description had to those found in books of a certain genre. That had been the trouble of course, the words attractive and strange didn’t do the man justice.

Which was why he was not expecting to see him a few months later sat in a café next to a small mountain of empty espresso cups. Aziraphale didn’t know how he could have thought that he was just remembering things through the rosy haze of alcohol. The man was stunning. He hadn’t changed much; the hair was slightly longer than he remembered, but the sunglasses were still firmly in place as he tapped away on his laptop. His eyes fixed on a small snake tattoo Aziraphale was sure hadn’t been visible at the party.

“If you want a photo you could just,” The man’s words, very clearly directed his way trailed off suddenly, apparently it had taken him a second to realize who he had caught staring at him. A grin spread across his face.

“Hello Aziraphale. How was the rest of the party?” Aziraphale froze, the man had actually remembered him. After a few seconds of no doubt looking rather foolish, Aziraphale’s brain managed to pull together an answer.

“I erm, left after that. No one ever really asked about it.” Aziraphale still wasn’t sure exactly what had happened. The laptop was sat on the kitchen table a few minutes later when Aziraphale had made his excuses and left. Aside from a few broken glasses and an empty fire extinguisher there seemed to be no trace of the man at the party. After practising what he could possibly say about it a number of times, he chickened out of actually saying anything about the whole affair.

“Don’t blame you, terrible party. Enjoy the tea.”

Aziraphale hesitated, he had his tea and the meeting Gabriel had called him into the office for was due to start any minute. There was absolutely no reason for him to linger. Except, well.

Aziraphale sat down opposite the laptop. The chair scratched the floor as he moved it, of course it did. The last thing he wanted was to draw more attention, he’d managed to choose the worst way to accomplish that goal. At least he wasn’t blushing, or at minimum, was already too embarrassed to notice if it got worse. The man’s covered eyes lifted to regard him for a minute before he sighed and pushed the laptop aside.

“It’s Crowley, by the way.”

“I’m sorry?”

“My name. You didn’t ask.”

“Oh! My apologies, I’m Aziraphale.”  
“I know.” Crowley took a drink from what appeared, at least from the state of the table, to be his sixth cup of espresso. The staff were probably going to run out of cups if he stayed much longer.

“You know?” Aziraphale hadn’t even realized when Crowley had greeted him that the man knew his name. The warmth behind the slight smirk as Crowley had rattled of his name had been so welcoming that he hadn’t questioned it. He wanted to hear Crowley say it again, preferable frequently and in on occasion gasp it between moans as Aziraphale made him feel incredible. His brain chimed in that he didn’t introduce himself at the party, he had been too worried about Crowley claiming an association with him at a later point. This apparently hadn’t prevented the man from learning it.

“Yep. Aziraphale Fell. Runs a bookshop in SoHo. Youngest brother by a few years; graduated with a double first but didn’t stay past that. Family company Heavenly Solutions, not that you seem to do much there.” Aziraphale tried not to feel disappointed even as he found himself agreeing with Crowley’s continuing assessment of his lack of role in the company. Not that there was much else too him, as Crowley apparently knew. Didn’t stay at university, didn’t really do anything outside his shop. Crowley glanced at him with an almost confused look, as if he had missed something.

“I can’t believe it’s actually called that.” Aziraphale gave a shrug, he shouldn’t have sat down. He could have had a perfectly reasonable memory of the man who at least spoke to him while causing chaos rather than learning that it was for the same reason anybody spoke to him.

“Gabriel has no sense of modesty.”

“Or anything else.” Aziraphale silently agreed with the assessment.

“I take it you talking to me was part of your plan to get that laptop.” It hurt more than he wanted it to, learning Crowley held a similar lack of interest in who he was beyond his family. He knew that people only bothered with him because of his family connections, of course if they knew the truth most wouldn’t even do that. Crowley didn’t even look guilty,

“That’s not the only reason. I mean yeah, you were helpful in getting the prototype designs from whatshisname. You just, seemed so bored. Thought you might, I dunno, not want to spend another few hours being ignored by people you’re trying to impress.”

Aziraphale revised his assessment, he shouldn’t have even gone to get a drink from the coffee shop. He should probably have just stayed in his bookshop where he couldn’t embarrass himself. _Pity_ , that was what he had experienced at the party. Crowley had taken time from whatever he was doing because he pitied him. Aziraphale fidgeted with his cup as he tried to let the reality settle over him without reacting. He knew what people thought of him, Crowley’s words were accurate enough regardless of how much he wanted them not to be. No one at that party had said more than a couple of words to him and even then, it was clearly the minimum they could get away with. All that was missing from this chance meeting were comments about his taste in clothes and him throwing away his education and the entire moment could have been taken from any family dinner he had endured.

“Ah crap, I didn’t mean.” Crowley frowned as he searched for words, he looked almost worried. “Look, people at those parties are all complete shits. You know that. They’re not worth impressing and they don’t like people who realize that. Then they ignore you, and hope no one realizes they haven’t had an original thought their entire lives. Not a single person there,” Crowley pushed his hair back almost dislodging his glasses, “is worth the effort it would take to find something redeeming under that shallowness.”

Aziraphale felt somewhat lost, there had been a compliment in there, at least he thought there had been. But the air of defiant anger accompanying it made the entire thing sound like somebody was being chastised. Aziraphale just hoped it wasn’t him.

“Thank you, that’s kind of you to say.” Aziraphale was not expecting to be glared at, even from below sunglasses.

“It’s not _kind_ , it’s being a semi-decent human being.”

“I must say I didn’t expect to see you again. I was beginning to think I had made the whole thing up out of boredom. I don’t think I have seen you here before.” Aziraphale managed not to apologise, he suspected that would be similarly ill-received. He tried for a change of topics instead, he wanted to know what exactly had happened at the party.[5] Why had Crowley even been there? His brain nagged to launch an inquisition to find out everything he possibly could about Crowley.[6] His opportunity to worry about sounding slightly mad to have hallucinated the entire thing was at least cut short by Crowley’s quick answer.

“You haven’t.” Aziraphale swallowed; something in Crowley’s tone signaled that was very much the end of the conversation. A few seconds of silence passed before Crowley slid his laptop back in place and began typing again, as clear a dismissal as Aziraphale had ever seen. “Deadlines.”

“It was lovely to actually meet you Crowley.” Aziraphale pulled his face into a smile as he stood, Crowley didn’t even glance up.

“Yep.”

“Must be off anyway, Gabriel has pulled everybody in for a three-hour meeting on booking rooms and arranging authorization for visitors.” Crowley looked up with a frown.

“You don’t even work there.”

“Yes well, I expect it’s just to show there’s no favouritism.”

“Sounds thrilling.”

*

Aziraphale was definitely not falling asleep.[7] It hadn’t even been an hour and, while there were quite a few people in attendance,[8] he was the only one to whom none of what was being said applied even remotely. He didn’t have a company device he could leave logged in. He didn’t take phone calls that required he considered who would overhear what was being said.[9] The truth was, outside of some catchy slogans and advertisements, he didn’t even understand exactly what the company _did_. Sure, money changed hands and there were profits and contracts but as far as Aziraphale could tell it was mostly just lots of rich people shuffling funds around while amassing more money in the process. He knew it was all legal at least. The sheer scale of the legal department assured that, even if some would interpret the decisions made in a less favourable light.

Aziraphale’s eyes glazed over slightly as Gabriel began to go over a far too long PowerPoint about not leaving guests to wander back to the entrance unaccompanied. An upbeat _bing_ from Aziraphale’s pocket pulled his attention, and rather unfortunately, that of Gabriel’s. Aziraphale hadn’t bothered to turn his phone off, it so rarely went off that he never needed to worry about it before. He offered a smile of apology as Gabriel rolled his eyes,

“Despite my brother’s interruptions, as I was saying: Miracles are what we do.” Aziraphale waited until Gabriel clicked to the next slide before checking his phone, _1 new message_. Then the fire alarm went off.

The message itself was short. Just two small yellow smiley faces, one with sunglasses and another winking. _Crowley._ Not that he had given the man his phone number. The texts weren’t necessary related to the fire alarm. The two events could be unrelated despite their chronological link.[10] That said, Aziraphale didn’t know of anybody else who would text him at all, let alone in pictorial format. Crowley could have just text to give Aziraphale his number, although Aziraphale couldn’t begin to think of a reason the man _would_ do that. He had mostly seemed annoyed Aziraphale had even wanted to talk to him. Aziraphale toyed with his phone as he walked back to his bookshop. Two deterred customers later,[11] he picked it up and saved the number.

* * *

[1] Crowley refused to acknowledge exactly what _that way_ was, but the point stood.

[2] This is the same as normal panicking but with a good dose of denial that it happened.

[3] Looking in the mirror hungover is universally a mistake. There’s nothing in there that will improve matters.

[4] Conclusive proof that this was in fact Aziraphale’s room.

[5] Well exactly as much happened he wouldn’t feel guilty about or need to tell anybody else.

[6] A large amount of those circled around any particular preferences Crowley might have in the bedroom and his future availability to explore them at length with Aziraphale.

[7] He was resting his eyes.

[8] Although Aziraphale realised it was not the _everyone_ Gabriel had mentioned. None of his other siblings were there, or anybody else who was high enough up to avoid the whole thing.

[9] Except to the fake customers that had sadly just called to purchase a book. The actual customers bringing said book to the counter would unfortunately have to concede and leave empty handed.

[10] Correlation does not prove Causation. Humans struggle with this fact due to the evolution of neural pathways to recognise patterns and be able to learn and adapt. Avoiding eating red berries because everyone who had done the previous day died horribly only hours later is necessary for survival. It doesn’t allow for the consideration that those people may have also been exposed to a completely unrelated hungry tiger. The solution to this problem is to find a spare human, who has not heard of any berry related deaths* and feed the berries to them. If they don’t die, try a larger sample size.

*Granted controlling for a placebo effect is not particularly necessary with most poisons.

[11] “I’m afraid I have quite lost my receipts book. Can’t sell without it I’m afraid, they’re* a stickler for taxes these days.”

* Who _they_ were was not established before the customer was herded from the store.


	3. Present Circumstances

Aziraphale “woke up” a few minutes after he heard Crowley drop something in the bathroom and leave. The something turned out to be a small pile of clothing on the toilet lid. He put them on somewhat frantically, the fact that Crowley had seen him naked was not something he was sure he could deal with. Aziraphale knew the layers of fabric didn’t exactly hide his soft round figure,[1] but they were comforting. Almost an armour against the looks and comments, he never caught Crowley looking at him with the usual derision he encountered, but there was no way it wasn’t there behind the glasses. Aziraphale’s shame gave way to more than a little guilt remembering how he hadn’t done Crowley the courtesy of avoiding admiring the man sleeping atop him. The opportunity present, Crowley’s pale skin had drawn Aziraphale’s eyes like magnets. He was all angles and smooth pale skin. There was no configuration that Crowley’s long limbs should have fit around Aziraphale and in the bath, but they had, hugging tightly against him through the night. Crowley nuzzled closer into Aziraphale’s shoulder; his red hair was softer than Aziraphale had expected although that knowledge only increased his desire to bury his fingers in it.

Aziraphale froze at the sound of the hotel room door opening, Crowley had returned although Aziraphale wasn’t sure why he had bothered. The look of horror he had spotted on his friend’s face before he remembered he was supposed to be asleep had confirmed his suspicions. Crowley had made a terrible mistake and would never be able to look at Aziraphale in the same way. Aziraphale reached to lock the door before realising that would alert Crowley to the fact that Aziraphale was panicking.[2] Crowley had been clear that he had no interest in Aziraphale regardless of how drunk they both were. The dread of finding out what he had done to change that rose in Aziraphale’s mind. Assuming that _had_ changed, and there wasn’t another explanation for their sleeping arrangements. It seemed implausible and yet Aziraphale couldn’t think of a single reason that Crowley’s thoughts on the matter would have changed, regardless of how much alcohol was involved. No, clearly there was a reason they had ended up in the bath which, while obviously mortifying, was nothing compared to the relief that they almost definitely had not had sex. It took him a frightfully long time to realise what felt off. He went to straighten his usual winged ring to find it had a neighbour. 

Aziraphale burst through the bathroom door to see Crowley typing frantically on his laptop wearing a familiar pair of pyjama trousers bunched around a tightly knotted drawstring that seemed to be halfway to giving up on the task of keeping them in place around the narrow hips they sat on. A smattering of small bruises spanned the curve of exposed hip, a matching set hinted at by shadows on the other.

“Please tell me we didn’t,” Crowley didn’t look up from the laptop screen.

“Angel, I don’t remember a fucking thing. But I’m working on it.” The light gave an eerie glow to Crowley’s skin. The added contrast highlighted a trail of marks across Crowley’s neck and shoulder that someone, and Aziraphale didn’t know whether he hoped or dreaded it was him, had kissed and bitten their way over the area. There were other marks too, older ones that Crowley usually. Clearly that had fallen quite a long way down his list of priorities.

“How could you,”

“No.” Crowley cut him off. “No. We were _both_ drunk and we’re _both_ in this mess. You don’t get to blame me for this.”

“But I wouldn’t have! I mean, you’re not.” Aziraphale’s voice had taken on what he suspected was a near hysterical tone, there was something terribly unfair about the situation.

“I am _very_ aware of that.”

“I just we can’t be,” _married_. Crowley turned and look at him, clearly more than a little frustrated.

“Aziraphale what I _can’t_ do now is have this argument while I’m sat here trying to work out how to fix this with a pain in my arse that feels like someone tried to cram a fucking aardvark up there. If you want to be a useful accidental husband, please shut up and go find some coffee.”

Aziraphale felt like was going to throw up. He had sex with Crowley. He had sex with Crowley and couldn’t remember it. In no universe was that fair.[3] He would have remembered that surely. All his earlier reasoning suddenly felt a lot less stable.

“You mean we?” He trailed off unable to finish the question. Crowley seemed to have no such issue.

“Fucked? Yep.”

“But I mean, you don’t remember! It could have been someone else.”

“Yes, because nothing says innocence like bodily fluids.” Aziraphale’s core wanted to sink into a pit of shame. He had barely registered the flaky remnants on his skin as he got dressed. For Crowley to have, he must have seen far more of Aziraphale than he was comfortable with. He could not cry, not in front of Crowley.

“Well I don’t know! You're the one with the collection that would put most sex shops to shame!" Aziraphale’s hand moved to cover his mouth even as the words left his mouth. He desperately wished he could take them back. He didn’t mean that. He knew he didn’t mean that. He certainly didn’t mean for Crowley to ever become aware he had accidentally stumbled upon the poorly hidden boxes of sex toys, restraints, and other unidentified silicon items in Crowley’s flat. He had sworn he wasn’t going to mention his discovery under any circumstances. Not that the lack of conviction behind the words mattered. He had clearly hit _a_ mark, although he wished he hadn’t. It was definitely not the one he had been aiming for. Crowley slammed the laptop shut glaring at him behind sunglasses.

“Feel free to dig up an apology with that coffee. I’ll be in my room.”

“Crowley, I-” Crowley didn’t stop, he barely waited for the door to open before slipping through the gap and pulling it closed behind him.

“Fuck.”

* * *

Crowley, having been a responsible adult and decided against getting completely smashed while attempting to network, was regretting his life choices immensely. They had led him to loitering[4] near the bar watching a lot of fancy people in suits pretend to tolerate each other for the sake of business. Crowley generally avoided networking. For a start, being recognised while working was very inconvenient. Still, consulting required clients, which required them to have at least heard of him. However, that didn’t mean he had to introduce himself, only his work. Which he did rather more effectively by complaining about his previous exploits as if he had been the target. It had several benefits, the most notable was that no one much cared if he was a dick. He didn’t have to pretend to enjoy about a terrible accounting joke or compare golf club preferences. The second, was that no one expected him to know the _how_ of whatever story he was telling. The plausible deniability meant anyone more perceptive than his usual audience didn’t find out about similar vulnerabilities their own companies had.

Fortunately, for those who could be amusing to upset at least, [5] most of the clusters of people no longer had his attention. Instead, Crowley was trying not to react to seeing Gabriel laughing with Aziraphale. Less _with_ , more _at_ given the pained smile Aziraphale was plastering on his face. He hadn’t thought much about it at the time, the sinking in Aziraphale’s voice when Crowley mentioned knowing the family connection. Here though, it was hard not to stare at the complete change that had come over Aziraphale. Gone was the almost annoyingly perfect posture, replaced by shoulders raised as though one day Aziraphale might actually manage to tortoise his head in defence, disappearing completely below his bow tie. The fidgeting Crowley had noted in the coffee shop had moved to be a chest height, almost blocking himself off from Gabriel, not that it helped. The older brother leaned over Aziraphale with large gestures and too loud comments about Aziraphale’s lack of a date to the evening. Aziraphale didn’t even seem to be trying to mount a defence.

Crowley’s first instinct[6] was to embarrass Gabriel in retaliation by sauntering up and pretending to be his spurned lover. This was immediately filed as a thing _not_ to do. For a start, he was at the party to network,[7] being linked in any way to Heavenly Solutions was not going to do that. Secondly, Crowley had a suspicion that Gabriel would just end up taking any embarrassment he felt out on Aziraphale. Crowley would be adamant that was the order of priority of those facts, regardless of how untrue that might have been.

He should have just left. Aziraphale knew him, or could recognise him at least, he would be hard pressed to spread rumours about himself if Aziraphale overheard him and pointed out this small detail. He couldn’t leave though, not after watching Gabriel walk away, no doubt to launch into another overly enthusiastic chat with another interchangeable man in a suit, leaving Aziraphale stood alone looking miserable. The question of why the scene had bothered him so much wasn’t something he was ready to poke while sober. Or even mildly tipsy.[8]

Crowley hadn’t expected to run into Aziraphale after their initial meeting, really it hadn’t even crossed his mind as something that could happen. Then he had been busily copying files to his laptop[9] when he felt someone staring at him. Which in itself wasn’t a particularly strange occurrence, Crowley knew how he looked and how useful that could be in some situations. The odd part was that he recognised the face that met his glare as a very embarrassed Aziraphale who, underneath the pink, actual seemed _happy_ to see Crowley. No one was ever happy to see Crowley. He hadn’t been sure what to do about that, other than try to get Aziraphale to leave before Crowley got even more inconveniently attached to the man. It was bad enough that he clearly had some idea of what Crowley had been doing at the party. The situation only worsened as Aziraphale sat down and tried to have a conversation with him. Crowley finally shoved his laptop back between them to try to get him to leave. And then Crowley had fucked up and got Aziraphale out of whatever hell it had been he was stuck in for the afternoon.

The worst part, not that Crowley would admit to it, was that Aziraphale hadn’t replied.

“Wine?” Aziraphale had barely straightened himself out after Gabriel’s latest tirade regarding his inability to find someone to bring to these events before the voice startled him. He grabbed the glass wind took a deep swig before noting the conspiratorial grin from the not altogether unfamiliar face.

“Crowley?” it had taken him a few seconds. Crowley it seemed was not one to stick to a certain look. His hair was much darker, and shorter. Even his tattoo seemed hidden, presuming it was permeant which apparently was not guaranteed. It was the sunglasses that gave away the illusion. A different style but still present. He barely noticed the differences once he had realised though. Crowley looked _good_ in a tux. Problematically so.

Aziraphale had decided against replying to the text he received, after debating it with Anathema more times than he wanted to admit. He was still feeling guilty about not giving her Crowley’s name, he hadn’t wanted her to look the man up on her phone and find an excuse for Aziraphale to contact him. His plan was just to pretend the text hadn’t existed. It may have got him out of wasting hours listening to changes in policy, but he hadn’t even given Crowley his number. The man, demon that he seemingly was, had acquired it somehow. Probably the same way he knew so much about Aziraphale without being told. Anxiety nudged at his mind as he considered what else the man might know, might mention. Crowley absolutely could not cause trouble for him, not with his family circulating the party scrutinising everything that occurred.

“What are you doing here?” Crowley shrugged; he didn’t seem offended at the question at least.

“I was invited,” Crowley sipped at his wine as he scanned the room, “basically.” Aziraphale gave a small smile of relief, choosing to ignore the last comment. He wasn’t there to mess anything up. Aziraphale just needed to not look too nervous and avoid attracting attention. It wasn’t as though Crowley definitely knew anything incriminating anyway; he was just being paranoid.

“Oh good,” Crowley raised his eyebrows but didn’t comment. Probably regretting coming over to speak to Aziraphale. What was it he had said about their first meeting, Crowley had felt sorry for him being ignored? Aziraphale sipped at his own wine for a second, somehow the pity felt just as bad as being ignored. Coming from Crowley, it seemed worse.

“I am fine you know. You don’t need to babysit me.” Crowley smile flickered slightly, he seemed to regard Aziraphale cautiously as if worried he would give something away.

“I’m not. I’m just bored and at least you’re not going to try to talk to me about whatever new and exciting investment nightmare most the people here are wittering on about.” Aziraphale frown,

“Ah, so you’ve come to amuse yourself by making me feel uncomfortable.”

“No, I just mean you’re enough of a bastard to be worth knowing.”

“Was that supposed to be a compliment?”

“No, it’s,” Crowley frowned, wrestling over his answer for a few seconds. “I really hate these parties, and I suspect you do too. Neither of us are exactly here by choice. Otherwise I’d suggest blowing if off and going somewhere fun?” The end raised almost as a question, as if Crowley didn’t know if it was an acceptable answer. Aziraphale felt his cheeks warm as he squashed the urge to ask what kind of place Crowley would find fun.[10]

“Well I wouldn’t say _hate_ exactly,” Aziraphale started.[11] “I hardly think it’s unreasonable to have to attend some functions in order to speak to the people the company does business with.”

“You barely work there. You don’t even get paid to do this stuff.”

“It’s family.” Aziraphale actually managed to catch Crowley rolling his eyes before the glasses were pushed up to once again obscure his eyes. They were almost gold, or at least seemed to be in the brief moment. “Besides, Michael didn’t want to come, and Gabriel felt it was important to show that it’s a family business.” Aziraphale hadn’t mentioned to Gabriel that he didn’t want to attend either. He hadn’t had time between being told the _“great news”_ and Gabriel hanging up. He’d had to get details about the event from Gabriel’s secretary.

He wondered if Crowley had been invited in a similar way. He doubted it, the man didn’t seem the type to attend a function just because someone told him it was expected. The idea of Crowley being invited raised more questions than it answered.

“I’m sorry what is it you actually do?” Crowley grinned back,

“Oh, I’m a consultant.”

“In?”

“Information acquisition.”

“I see,” Aziraphale had never wanted to be a dentist, though he imagined pulling literal teeth would be easier than getting information from Crowley.

“And retention.”

“Right.”

“Mostly I just cause trouble,”

“Yes, I am getting that impression.” Crowley’s grin grew. Without consulting his brain, Aziraphale’s joined in.

“Aziraphale, I see you’ve found a friend! Hi, I’m Gabriel, it’s always so nice to see new faces at these events.” Aziraphale jumped as a hand clamped onto his shoulder, he had forgotten he was being watched. Crowley meanwhile offered a smile with less feeling than a praying mantis,

“AJ, we do security consulting.” Aziraphale couldn’t even look up from his wine glass as Gabriel’s hand clenched slightly. Crowley was clearly not somebody Gabriel felt he should be speaking with. This was going to mean hours of hearing how stupid he was again; he could already tell. He hadn’t even considered Crowley would have more than a single name, or that if he did, Crowley was almost definitely not a likely given name _._ Too busy internally gushing over small smiles to think through any of their encounters critically.

“Oh? And how do you know Aziraphale?”

“I don’t. Just making the rounds. I admit, I was prodding his brain a little,” Aziraphale wanted to shriek his denial of that. He _hadn’t_ been talking about work, he knew he couldn’t do that. “One of our clients has decided he needs a library or some nonsense. Apparently, your brother keeps his shop remarkably free from damp and whatever else it is books needs to not have. Just discussing bookcase lining and so on.” Aziraphale remembered to breathe, Crowley appeared to have an explanation for their conversation, Gabriel didn’t need to know about the party. Or the fire alarm. Or Aziraphale’s growing list of the attractive features Crowley possessed. He definitely did not need to know the last list.

“I see,”

“Don’t worry, barely said two words about the company. Don’t even know what he actual does there being honest.”

“Of course not.” The laugh Gabriel gave didn’t sound remotely amused. “It’s like he wants to forget about us half the time.”

“I find it hard to imagine it’s half the time. The joys of working with family I’m sure.”

Aziraphale felt himself space out as Crowley exchanged pleasantries with his brother. Well, exchanged comments which could be taken a multitude of ways, the most recurrent of which was _fuck you_. His stomach was threatening to raise objections to the situation which only made him feel worse. Finally, Gabriel released Aziraphale shoulder to shake Crowley’s hand,

“Well I find your work just fascinating. I would love to set up a meeting between you and my brother, not this one _obviously_ , to discuss some,” Crowley tone was decidedly not apologetically as he cut Gabriel off.

“Sorry, books are full at the moment. No new clients and obviously, it’s all trade secrets” Gabriel smiled. It was all teeth.

“Now that is a shame, I expect your hiding a few of those secrets behind those glasses.” 

“Migraines.” Gabriel’s smile turned to Aziraphale before he walked away. It was not reassuring.

“You alright?” Aziraphale shook his head as Crowley handed another glass of wine from, well Aziraphale wasn’t sure. Not that he was inclined to ask, that could risk the supply of any future wine precured from the same place.[12] He hated how small Gabriel made him feel, suddenly a child again, feeling unable to say anything in case it made the situation worse. He was an adult, he should be able to deal with talking to his siblings without worrying that anything he said would be taken the wrong way, or purposefully misconstrued. Any small slip would be months of hearing how useless he was. He had thought, now he had his shop and actively avoided learning anything about the business, he would be allowed to continue to avoid the endless series of social events. Instead, Gabriel seemed increasingly convinced he should be doing more. As long as that more didn’t involve doing anything that could even remotely be seen as damaging. Even then, when he did everything right, he managed to mess up something that he hadn’t considered.

Apparently, Crowley had no such fears. He hadn’t even hesitated, just rattled of a complete fiction to Gabriel’s face with absolutely no worry of being called out on it.

“How do you do that?”

“What? Deal with dickheads?”

“No, I mean lying so easily.”

“Literally my job Angel.” Aziraphale snapped back face heating furiously over the endearment.

“Excuse me?” Crowley seemed amused at Aziraphale’s reaction.

“You know. The blonde hair, your complete inability to lie about anything. You even feel guilty that _I_ lied in close proximity, which means at least one of us does. You’re polite enough it’s bordering on pathological. Add in the name and well, might as well be a literal angel.” Aziraphale swallowed more wine. It had helped him through his first encounter with Crowley, it was seeming necessary for this one too.

“That’s, very kind I’m sure.” Aziraphale wasn’t convinced Crowley had meant the name to be kind and not an embarrassing allusion to Aziraphale’s lack of social graces. Either way, it was hardly the worst thing he had been called. He would just need to remember to stamp down any flickering of affection it caused in future. Not that he was going to see Crowley again.

“Anyway, I had to lie.” Aziraphale nodded along,

“Well yes. I mean, there would be questions about the party.” Aziraphale tried not to dwell on the sinking feeling that had been brewing throughout the evening since Crowley had appeared. His stomach, realising Gabriel had left, had returned to its earlier attempts to reach the floor. Something would go wrong. “And the laptop. And the fire alarm.”

“Nah, got a non-compete clause from _centuries_ ago. Can’t discuss methods with your lot. Can’t work for them at all. Probably shouldn’t be talking to you, but it’s not like anyone is going to check.”

“So, you don’t want to talk about any of that then?” Aziraphale sipped at his wine and smiled tentatively.

“I’d rather peel my own skin off. Speaking of, do you actual sell _any_ books? Because your online reviews suggest not.”

**

“Wait, party guy was there? And he spoke to Gabriel?” Anathema Device, PhD student and sometimes witch, was one of the few customers Aziraphale tolerated.[13] He would even admit to enjoying her company.[14] She was also remarkably good at getting Aziraphale to mention things he shouldn’t.

“Yes, but I absolutely cannot speak to him again.” Anathema looked up from the book she had been carefully pouring over in back room of the bookshop.

“Why? Accidentally get drunk and go home with him?”

“Nothing so interesting I’m afraid.[15] It’s to do with the company. We’re, on different sides you see.” Anathema gave him a look which said she did not. Aziraphale shook his head, he probably shouldn’t have used Gabriel’s phrasing, it always sounded like a terrible slogan or motto. “He steals business secrets, that’s his job. Gabriel already made it clear that I shouldn’t have even spoken to him about bookcases.”

“Bookcases? Mysterious hot guy swans over and you talk about bookcases?” Anathema moved across to steal some of the cakes she had brought with her before Aziraphale could finish them. Which given the speed they were disappearing, was probably the right move.

“Of course not. Gabriel came over and Cr- _he_ told Gabriel he had just been discussing book storage. Just lied, not even a moment of hesitation.” Anathema shrugged,

“Well that sounds like it’s his job.”

“That’s the problem, what if all this is just some long game to get me to reveal things about the business?” Aziraphale wasn’t sure if he had even considered that a realistic possibility before Gabriel’s _charming_ hour-long phone call. Crowley had dodged any possible segue into talking about business. At one point he had cut Aziraphale off thanking him for the fire alarm. Apparently, that was too closely related to business talk.

“Zira,” Aziraphale levelled a glare at her. “ _Aziraphale_ , you don’t even do anything there. It’s not like there is anything you could tell him that would be worth the effort anyway.”

“He doesn’t know that. And if they find out I’ve been talking to him I won’t ever hear the end of it.” Anathema gave a knowing smile. Not that Aziraphale felt she actually knew anything.

“He might just want to get to know you. You said he clearly knows a bit about you, maybe it’s all less nefarious than all that.”

“That seems resoundingly unlikely.”

“Then I guess you’ll just not speak to him again.” Aziraphale glanced at his phone. He wasn’t going to actually use Crowley’s number. Even if he had saved it after leaving the function the previous night.

“Yes, I really couldn’t risk it. It’s completely out of the question.”

“You don’t need permission from them you know.”

“I’m not a child. I’m perfectly able to make my own decisions. It’s not like I could tell him anything anyway.”

“Exactly. What’s the harm in having someone to talk to?”

“I,” Aziraphale hesitated. Anathema had as she frequently did, backed him into admitting what he wanted. “Fine, I won’t rule out speaking with him in the future.”

“You could message him?”

“No! No,” Aziraphale tucked his phone into his pocket. “If I see him again and he doesn’t want to talk about anything sensitive then I can see how that goes. There’s no need to do anything as drastic as send him a message. What would I even say?”

“See if he wants to go for food? You could send him an aubergine.”  
“Why would I do that?” Anathema’s expression was pure guilt.

“No reason. You like them. Most phones have it as an image.”

“I like it as a vegetable yes, but I don’t.” Aziraphale realised the reason for Anathema’s expression. “Oh, it’s one of those sexting things isn’t it?”

“You said he was hot.”

“I’m not quite at the stage where I need to send suggestive vegetables.[16] I can just, see what happens. Not that anything will mind you.”

* * *

[1] That, to Aziraphale’s mind, could only have been achieved by gathering a much larger mountain of clothes and hiding behind it.

[2] He absolutely was panicking but that was not the _point_.

[3] The concept of fairness means very little to the universe as a whole. Presumably because said universe isn’t sentient.

[4] Although this would be escalated to lurking if he stayed there much longer.

[5] It was amazing the chaos a well-placed ice-cube could cause after the first person slipped and added to it with their own drink.

[6] Crowley had found that throughout his life, his first instincts had proved to almost universally be bad ideas.

[7] Or at least spread rumours about himself that would gain him some business.

[8] It was the sort of question that required - _at the very least_ \- several bottles of home brewed cider consumed at speed as it sped along its five-day path from jam to vinegar through increasing concentrations of alcohol. To best experience this a tent in a field with some kind of farm animal is required.

[9] Not that Crowley should have been able to access to said files. If idiots were going to connect to an unknown network and access private data that was hardly Crowley’s fault.

[10] He was very good at squashing down those kind of thoughts, years of experience made up for his innate tendencies to daydream.

[11] Lied.

[12] A waiter had wandered by a moment earlier. Aziraphale hadn’t noticed because Crowley had just told Gabriel no.

[13] She didn’t try to buy anything and often brought snacks to share.

[14] The snacks were excellent.

[15] He very much wished he had.

[16] The most suggestive of the vegetables is the amorous avocado featured on Skype. The least suggestive, outside of digital format, is the turnip. Or so one would hope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mraowface: I always accept cider as an apology.


	4. Matters to Clear Up

Aziraphale put off apologising for most of the afternoon. It hadn’t been intentional; he had just sat down to stop the world spinning quite so much and fell asleep. Several more hours had passed as he lazily tidied up the room, trying not to think too much about the sequence of events that would have included quite so much split alcohol and other _mess._ Crowley’s phone was an unexpected find, battery dead but he couldn’t do anything about that. Aziraphale gave up on his procrastination as evening hit and it occurred to him that he hadn’t managed to eat anything. This realisation came with a famished feeling. The hotel had a café, which as well as providing sustenance for Aziraphale simplified finding Crowley’s requested coffee. [1] Aziraphale grabbed a pair of overly sugary cupcakes too, for Crowley. Or possibly to share if Crowley was inclined.

He knocked lightly at the door before heading into Crowley’s room, trying not to be too worried that he hadn’t bothered to lock it. The room was dark, but he could hear Crowley typing away and the mound of bedding surrounding the laptop gave away his position rather quickly. A tuft of red hair stuck out from under a duvet. If Crowley had noticed Aziraphale enter he didn’t show it.

"Peace offering, my dear." The typing stopped, followed by a too long silence that had Aziraphale wanting to apologise just to fill the silence. [2] He wasn’t sure exactly what it was, but it would just have to get in line after everything else. Aziraphale set the coffee down and turned on a light. Crowley squinted as a hand emerged from the pile of blankets to grab for his glasses.

"Got an email receipt paying for the service. It's all legal, apparently." Crowley’s voice was small, almost defeated.

"Oh." Aziraphale wasn’t sure what he was supposed to say.

"I can't even see the damn thing because _apparently_ these people don't work weekends and just keep everything on fucking paper." Crowley glared at the laptop as if it would spring to life and work in a more satisfactory way. When that failed to work, he slammed it shut.

Aziraphale jumped at the sudden noise.

"Well, I'll just,” Aziraphale forced his shoulders down, “leave these here." Crowley was halfway out of his covers in an instant.

“Wait 'ziraphale!” Aziraphale froze uncertain. His mind seemed to have voted in favour of running away, it always did when people started shouting. Crowley shook his head as he sank back onto the mattress. “I shouldn’t have left earlier.”

He risked a glance at Crowley who seemed more miserable than angry. Aziraphale knew Crowley wasn’t going to shout _at_ him. Even during their worst arguments Crowley mostly hissed sarcastic comments then left to sulk.[3]

“I understand. I am sorry for what I said. I didn’t mean to imply, well.” Aziraphale sat sadly on the bed at what he hoped was an appropriate distance. Crowley pulled his legs to his chest hugging them as he finished the apology Aziraphale couldn’t.

“What? That clearly, based on some snooping in my flat, I routinely wake up next to people in bathtubs unable to remember if I should be thanking them for a wonderful evening? S’fine Angel.”

Aziraphale wanted to argue it was very much not fine. He had said something he hadn’t meant and now Crowley was acting as if it didn’t matter. As if his opinion of Aziraphale wasn’t changed. That left the uncomfortable possibility that Crowley’s opinion of him wasn’t great before that.

“I didn’t _mean_ to stumble across anything.” Aziraphale didn’t even remember what he had been looking for. It was definitely not a large box of assorted sex toys. He hadn’t been able to look at rubber ducks the same way since. Seemingly unconcerned with Aziraphale inner turmoil about Crowley’s opinion of him, Crowley stretched to the table and snagged a cake. Aziraphale hadn’t even realised he was staring until Crowley glanced back and he quickly looked elsewhere. They sat mostly in silence for a few minutes as Crowley demolished one cake and stole icing off the other before passing it to Aziraphale. The coffee was gone soon after. Aziraphale suspected it was all Crowley had bothered with since he woke up. He certainly hadn’t left the room, or at least he would presumably have put on more clothing if he had.

“I know. And you didn’t mean it earlier. Although for what it’s worth, first bathtub.” Aziraphale managed a weak smile.

“My dear, you look awful.” This was a complete lie as far as Aziraphale was concerned. Crowley, hair a complete mess, wearing only Aziraphale’s pyjama bottoms was a near masterpiece.[4] It was more the details that concerned Aziraphale. The lazy stretches and smothered yawns suggesting Crowley hadn’t slept at all.

“Thanks.” Crowley curled back under his bedding and opened his laptop, apparently forgiving its inability to do what he had wanted.

“Have you even slept?” Crowley shook his head as he typed, confirming Aziraphale’s suspicions.

“Busy with the thing, mess. Need to fix it.” Aziraphale felt a balloon somewhere inside him pop, _mess_. That’s what this all was to Crowley, a mess to be cleared up. Not that Aziraphale didn’t want the same thing. _Obviously._ It shouldn’t have hurt; it was the truth after all. Crowley was just trying to get it all cleared up. Aziraphale wanted to be glad Crowley was putting so much effort into undoing it all, even while he had been putting off dealing with it entirely. But that didn’t mean he wanted Crowley to ignore the things he needed, especially when it wouldn’t help the situation anyway.

“You said it was on paper, it’s not like you can do anything from here.” Crowley glared at him before giving a sigh and burrowing further under his duvet. Aziraphale placed a comforting hand on the bedding, then removed it when he realised the area of Crowley that was underneath. Crowley stayed mercifully silent.

“I could break in? Doubt they have decent security. Few signatures and it’s done. Or just burn the evidence if they haven’t filed it yet.” Aziraphale watched the laptop screen fill with a map. Breaking into buildings seemed drastic; it wasn’t as though waiting until the Monday was going to be a particular hardship.

“No, no. No rush.”

“Speak for yourself,” Crowley muttered his response, barely audible.

“I’m sorry?” Crowley’s eyes didn’t move from the screen.

“If we’re going to pretend this never happened, I want it done with. Not hanging over me until some underpaid idiot gets around to fixing it.”

“I see. Well that makes things clearer.”

“Aziraphale,”

“If you’ll excuse me, I think I will turn in for the night.”

Aziraphale made it to his room without crying. He didn’t know why he thought Crowley was any less upset about the situation than him. He had seemed so calm earlier in the day, or at least calmer than Aziraphale. He could understand Crowley being upset, devastated even. The urgency was less understandable. They were _friends._ Aziraphale was sure they were friends. Crowley had said as much. Yet he couldn’t face the possibility of just waiting even two days. He was so horrified at the idea he hadn’t done anything but work out how to fix the _mess._ Aziraphale wasn’t happy about the situation, but he could at least put on a brave face and wait until it could be sorted out. There were far worse situations he had been through. It was just paperwork really.

* * *

Crowley’s heart sank[5] as he spotted Aziraphale hovering near the wine bar. He had been hoping that, at the very least, he wouldn’t be attending tonight’s party. Not that it was much of a party really, more of an obscenely expensive publicity stunt designed to attract similarly fucked up companies to get involved with the kind of cunts that could accept any awful beliefs and policies if it meant more money. Or, as the organisers had referred to it, a fundraiser. At some point there was supposed to be a speech, or more likely ten, because the people at these events never tired of hearing praise; even if it was just the crap they sloshed over themselves at every opportunity. The whole evening was a cesspit of people Crowley wouldn’t save for all their combined wealth.[6] And Aziraphale was there. Granted he looked like he would rather be absolutely anywhere else, or at least considerably more drunk.[7]

Crowley’s therapist had been, less enthusiastic about his attendance than Crowley thought was fair. He was socialising with new people, and not even for work purposes. It was perhaps not the best mix of people, especially given that he had been putting sugar into quite a few of their car petrol tanks as the valets parked them. And left several cards nailed into the wheels. And added superglue to inconvenient parts. Tracey had eventually conceded that it was some progress, in much the way that a nicely decorated rock can be a pet.[8] She had then turned her attention to asking if Crowley had stopped shouting at his plants, a reoccurring topic that she hadn’t yet dropped.

Crowley wasn’t denying that yes, Aziraphale was attractive _obviously_ , but that was just an objective fact. Which was irrelevant because unless Crowley was wildly off, Aziraphale wouldn’t be interested in Crowley. He wasn’t sure at first, but the mildest suggestion of anything that could possibly be interpreted as flirtation seemed to mostly just make Aziraphale flustered, almost panicked. Which was fine, he could appreciate how Aziraphale looked and as there was no chance of it being returned there was no harm in it. Besides, it didn’t have to mean anything, regardless of what Tracey said. Ultimately none of it mattered, not if Aziraphale was here voluntarily. The whole point was moot anyway. _Maybe._ There was enough fidgeting to suggest Aziraphale was at least slightly uncomfortable. Crowley couldn’t be blamed for wanting to check the _voluntarily attending_ point off before accepting that his previous opinion was so wrong.

“Well this is a bit shit, even for your lot.” Crowley was fairly proud of how high Aziraphale jumped at being addressed. Clearly nervous then. He spun in confusion to look at Crowley before checking nobody could hear them. It took him almost a minute to realise it was Crowley who addressed him. He could see the exact moment as Aziraphale’s polite smile faltered into a much tighter worried line.

“Crowley?” Aziraphale’s voice dropped to a frantic whisper. “Why, why are you dressed as a nun?” Crowley squinted through the thick glasses he was wearing; the prescription strength was uncomfortable but plain glass didn’t look quite right. Combined with the coloured contacts Crowley could already feel the ghost of a headache. He managed a small smile.

“No one suspects the nun.”[9]

“But you’re,” Crowley raised his eyebrows. Whether it was that, or another guest passing too close that made Aziraphale stop he wasn’t sure. “Doesn’t anyone notice?” Crowley shrugged, no one had so far. He was hobbling less than when he arrived; someone had stopped to check if he wanted a chair. That person had, unrelatedly, tripped over the walking stick Crowley was currently leaning on.

“It’s not like anyone is going to check what’s under a nun’s habit.” Crowley reached for a glass of wine; nuns could drink. Or at least, no one was going to tell a nice old nun that she couldn’t have a second glass. Aziraphale seemed amused at Crowley’s answer. He actually managed to smile back. Then again, he had been stood by the bar for quite a while.

“Oh? And what do they wear underneath?” Crowley could absolutely not be blamed in any way for his answer.

“No idea, Angel. It’s too damn hot under this thing to bother.” The effect was instantaneous, Aziraphale looked at Crowley, eyes widening in alarm as his face flushed pink.

“Oh, good lord Crowley! Please tell me you aren’t,” Crowley sipped his wine. He wasn’t sure why he enjoyed making Aziraphale flustered. It was at least a change from most of the reactions he received. Aziraphale, apparently coming to terms with Crowley’s lack of underwear, seemed to be averting his gaze glancing upwards. Possibly waiting for Crowley to be struck with lightning or similar.

“Where did you even get that? Break into an abbey on the way here?”

“Nah, borrowed it from a friend.”

“How are you friends with a nun?” Cowley gave Aziraphale an overly polite smile.

“Got arrested together.”

Aziraphale had never dealt with stressful situations particularly well. Instead he opted for more of a hurried stagger towards the first possible escape. His options were lacking in this instance, he couldn’t leave, and Crowley had found him. Dressed as a nun. It should have been surprising, possibly even amusing to see his admittedly limited efforts to transform into a nun. Instead giant flags waved in Aziraphale head as alarm bells sounded. Crowley was very obviously there to cause trouble. Aziraphale had planned for this in the overly warm taxi from his bookshop, a worst-case scenario. He couldn’t remember any of the plan, which was probably for the best – it wasn’t his finest plan.[10] Aziraphale steeled himself, as long as any trouble Crowley caused didn’t include him there was no reason anything bad would happen. He almost wanted to be happy Crowley was going to mess the evening up. He would have been, if Aziraphale himself had been anywhere else.

“Why are you even here? You weren’t invited, I checked.” Crowley rolled his eyes behind the large glasses.

“Charming.” Aziraphale hurried away from the now fairly crowded bar. He wasn’t certain Crowley would say anything that the other guests shouldn’t hear but Crowley was barely bothering to sound anything like an elderly nun. At least he wasn’t wandering around playing on his phone pretending to be waitstaff again.

“You can’t tell me you don’t have a problem with most the people here.”

“I’m not consulted on policy decisions.” Aziraphale looked around, still busy. He tried for the vague tone Gabriel tended to use when he didn’t want to discuss something. He did not manage it. He struggled to get his words above a whisper.

“Policy decision. Really?”

“It’s for charity. I wouldn’t be here otherwise.” He didn’t want to be there. He had been planning to avoid it due to a problem at the bookshop,[11] but Sandalphon had shown up to make sure he wasn’t late. He’d managed to miss the evening entirely the previous year due to a book auction he absolutely needed to be at despite having no intention of making a purchase.[12]

“ _Charity._ ”

Aziraphale watched with growing alarm as Crowley became more annoyed, and taller. The pretence of being a short elderly lady appeared to have been forgotten. Aziraphale grabbed a sleeve and yanked downwards. Crowley stumbled slightly but did stay hunched over his walking stick.

“Really Angel? If you wanted me undressed, you could have just asked.”

“Yes, because clearly the time try that is while I’m standing around drinking near people who think I’m going to Hell or at least should be ashamed of myself for just that.” Aziraphale’s brain caught up with his mouth only a few seconds too late. The damage was done though, Crowley knew. If he didn’t already. The man’s jaw dropped to the point it seemed at risk of unhinging before he shook his head and groaned.

“Ugh. I am such an idiot. Fuck, I’m sorry.”

“What for?”

“I assumed you were here because you agreed with all,” Crowley made a circling gesture with his hand, “ _this_. Fuck.” Crowley seemed more annoyed, but with himself rather than Aziraphale, which was an improvement.

“Nuns don’t swear.”

“This one fucking does. Your family expect you to just put up with all this?” Crowley downed his wine.

“They,” Aziraphale was used to bottling up how he felt in these situations. Smile politely, pretend not to hear any comments that hurt, drink more than he probably should. He wasn’t prepared for Crowley to just ask about it. Ask how he _felt_. Aziraphale couldn’t even bring himself to try and find words that could explain. He shook his head blinking away the threatening moisture from his eyes.

“My family, they don’t seem to quite understand.” His voice gave up before ending the final word, but Crowley just nodded.

“Let’s get you out of here, Angel.” Aziraphale’s gaze shot back to Crowley’s face from its previous focus on the floor. He wanted to say yes, he wanted the relief leaving would bring. But naturally, it couldn’t be that easy.

“I can’t, and you’re clearly working.”

“This is for fun, it’s not important. I’ll drive you home.”

“But my family,”

“Not a problem.” Aziraphale was not reassured by how confident Crowley sounded. He had never managed to escape corporate events early.

Crowley all but steered Aziraphale through the gallery. Aziraphale wasn’t sure elderly nuns were supposed to use their sticks for parting crowds, but it was certainly effective. They stopped briefly in front of Gabriel; he appeared oblivious as usual to Aziraphale’s discomfort, or at least apathetic. Crowley smiled and patted Aziraphale’s arm.

“I’m afraid I’m a bit under the weather, getting old. This kind young man has been good enough to agree to get me back to the hotel I am staying at safely. Such a rarity these days. I do hope it’s okay if I steal him away.” Aziraphale had to admit, by slipping into a Scottish accent, Crowley easily hid any notable pitch issues with his voice.

“Of course, sister. I’m glad Aziraphale is finally a hit with the ladies.” 

“As long as he doesn’t make a habit of it,” Sandalphon sneered, Aziraphale wasn’t sure he had any other manner of speaking. Gabriel seemed overjoyed at the comment.

“A habit of it, can you believe this guy? That’s good. Don’t make a _habit_ of it because you’re a nun.” Crowley made a pained noise of acknowledgement and pulled Aziraphale away. He waited until any chance of being overheard was killed by the music before leaning closer to Aziraphale.

“Come on Angel, back to the bookshop.”

Aziraphale wasn’t sure what he had been expecting. Crowley, after discarding a walking stick dragged him through the streets until they reached what Aziraphale really hoped was Crowley’s car. He would absolutely draw the line at stealing vehicles. Almost certainly. Regardless, Crowley opened the door for Aziraphale and guided him inside and handed him a bottle of wine from the party. A plastic glass was produced from the door pocket.

“There’s a corkscrew in the glove box. Vodka in the back if you want something stronger.” Crowley reappeared behind the wheel. He shed the thick glasses as he sat flicking them between the seats into the back of the car. “Sorry, can’t drive in these things.” Aziraphale watched Crowley quickly take out a pair of contact lenses. He managed to fasten his seatbelt before he realised Crowley was waiting for him to say something.

“I’m fine. Really.” Aziraphale paused. “Why did you come tonight?” Crowley shrugged,

“Yearly tradition. This year it was the cars. Last year there were fish. Might look into the power supply next year.” Aziraphale thought back to Gabriel complaining about the smell of the venue for weeks after the previous fundraiser. Apparently, some guests seemed to carry it home with them.[13] Crowley reached across to the glove box and handed Aziraphale a bottle opener.

“I wasn’t joking about the vodka either.” He had barely settled back behind the wheel before the engine roared to life. Music blasted from the stereo, drowning out any possibility of conversation. Aziraphale watched streets blur past and decided the wine was a fantastic idea.

“They’re not bad people, they deserve better than me lying to them.”

“You thought I was going to say something.”

Two bottles of wine later, a discussion regarding speed limits and several _rather unnecessary_ comments about why somebody would keep alcohol in their car later, Aziraphale sat almost leaning against Crowley. He was, thankfully, no longer dressed as a nun and had not been joking about his choice of underwear or lack thereof. Aziraphale discovered this fact after Crowley had almost-legally parked his car and, after a very brief glance to check the street was otherwise empty, dragged on a pair of sinfully tight jeans and a dark top. Aziraphale dropped the keys to the bookshop as he hurried for somewhere else to look.

Aziraphale took a second to think back what Crowley had said. He had been distracted by the man’s eyes. Near gold, as he had glimpsed behind the glasses. Aziraphale heard him mutter something about the lighting in the shop as way of an explanation for the lack of glasses but he’d missed it over the sound of wine being poured very quickly.

“Well I assumed you already knew.”

“Eh, I just read the company website and the yelp reviews for the shop. It’s not like you even have social media. Figured there wasn’t anything too important I was missing.”

“How charming.”

“I didn’t say I was right.” Aziraphale conceded the point as he topped up their glasses.

“I wouldn’t have said anything to your family. It’s your fucking business and they’re shit people.” Crowley watched Aziraphale’s mouth twitch at the word choice. Or it might have been that Crowley called his _family_ shit rather than the word itself. Hard to tell either way.

“Really my dear, there’s no need for that. They just have trouble with some aspects of my life.”

“And what? You just avoid doing anything that would upset them?”

“Mostly.” Crowley considered his empty wine glass;[14] a refill would probably require moving from the sofa he had claimed. It was too comfortable, that was the problem. The whole bookshop was too comfortable, warm lighting the smell of old books permeated the air and Aziraphale just kept smiling. He should have left hours earlier, instead he had joined in making a dent in the wine Aziraphale seemed to hoard in the backroom.

“Doesn’t sound great Angel.”

“I have my bookshop. I’m perfectly content with that.”

“I think shop implies you actually sell the books.” Crowley gave up on refilling the wine himself and held out his glass towards Aziraphale who took it with a bemused smile.

“I do sell books. Occasionally.”

“Plenty of families have disagreements. Siblings always fight over pointless things.” Crowley hadn’t meant for the conversation to circle back to Aziraphale’s family being terrible. He’d avoided it for nearly a full bottle of wine,[15] until Aziraphale brought it up without much prompting.

“Wouldn’t call tonight pointless.”

“Well no, but I meant in general, other things.”

“Like?”

“It’s been a few years since we had any real falling out. Mostly it used to be ignoring each other and refusing to speak. That’s when we were younger of course.” Crowley wanted to ask if they stopped fighting at the time Aziraphale gave up on doing things his family disagreed with.[16] He wasn’t good at family stuff, the need to side with people just because of name or similar genetics. It was clearly important to Aziraphale though.

“Why?”

“It’s been a while you understand. One time I asked Gabriel to be quiet because I was trying to read and then he and the others didn’t speak to be for three weeks. It’s just how siblings are.” Crowley froze,

“They didn’t speak to you for three _weeks_?”

“They talked about me a few times. But I was being completely unreasonable.” Aziraphale wore a detached smile that matched the amused tone. Crowley attempted to sober up, or at least focus enough to work out if Aziraphale actually believed what he was saying. The last phrase sounded parroted; a reason he had been told so much he assumed it was true.

“I’m sorry, when was this?”

“Oh well it was before I went off to school so I must have been six or seven I imagine. A few times I came home from university too, that was longer, I think. We didn’t all live at home by then, so it wasn’t so bad. Didn’t notice for a few days.”

“You get that that’s not okay, right?”

“Don’t be silly my dear, it’s completely harmless.”

“Angel, you don’t ignore a kid for weeks just because they asked you to be quiet. Or adults for that matter. Unless you duct taped their mouths closed, that’s really fucked up.” Aziraphale straightened his waistcoat and sipped wine silently. Crowley waited for a response, a denial. He wasn’t prepared for the one he received.

“What about your family then? I take it they’re a charming bunch.”

Aziraphale was quite sure Crowley wasn’t intentionally balancing his glass so badly that any arm movement would result in a stain on his sofa. He’d sat up rather suddenly, but not actually responded to Aziraphale’s question. A hand moved to straighten his glasses without quite hiding the nervous twitch on realising they weren’t there. Crowley’s gaze shot from his drink to the floor, clearly uncomfortable to find them absent. Aziraphale wasn’t certain he should have asked. Had he known it would make Crowley so uncomfortable, he would have avoided it.

“You don’t have to,”

“No, it’s fine. S’fine Angel. Usually just tell people they died and to fuck off.” Crowley finished his wine[17] and immediately poured himself another glass. “My mother decided she didn’t want me. Left me with some uncles when I was eight. Stayed there until I was old enough to leave, it was hell.”

“She just left you there?”

“Yup.”

“My dear, I’m so sorry.” Crowley rolled his eyes,

“Why? Not like things haven’t got better.”

“Did you ever track her down? Your mother?”

“Looked once, she married some guy. Don’t know beyond that.”

“She left you then went and started a new family?” Crowley gave a laugh and shook his head,

“No, no. She kept the others, siblings I mean. My, erm, brother is older by a couple of years. Got a sister that’s younger, I think. She kept _them_ , just didn’t want me.”

“My dear, that’s,” Aziraphale didn’t couldn’t think what to say. Crowley filled up Aziraphale’s wine glass silently. 

* * *

[1] Aziraphale didn’t usually order coffee, so he had just asked the barista to fill a cup with the strongest coffee they could. They trainee has seemed worried but did as he asked.

[2] Crowley had joked once that Aziraphale seemed to have trained his fight or flight response to include apologising as the first step.

[3] Not that Crowley would ever acknowledge said sulking.

[4] An actual masterpiece would require omitting the pyjamas entirely.

[5] Very much _without_ permission.

[6] Granted in most cases this was low, on paper at least. For tax reasons.

[7] Ideally both.

[8] Or a handy weapon; rocks tend to be multifunctional.

[9] Crowley had come to that conclusion after a week where he managed nothing except one shower and binge watching what could arguably be described as _too much_ Agatha Christie.*

* this argument is easily settled by the fact that there is no such thing as too much Agatha Christie.

[10] Step 1: Avoid being seen by Crowley. Step 2: Continue step 1. Step 3: Lock self in toilet cubicle while continuing Step 1. Step 4: Leave at appropriate time (continuing Step 1).*

*It was very much, not Aziraphale’s finest plan.

[11] Aziraphale hadn’t had chance to decide what this would be. A pipe leaking near books held potential but given Gabriel’s food issues,* a night becoming friends with his toilet due to some unfortunate lunchtime decisions would mean any potentially difficult questions would be forgotten in favour of a lecture on healthy eating.

“Gabriel’s issues were entirely related to how much he felt other people should eat.

[12] He came back with four books.

[13] This would be because Crowley had not limited himself to hiding out of date seafood behind the power sockets and in the projector, but also let himself into the cloakroom.

[14] Not metaphorically, he just didn’t quite remember finishing the wine.

[15] Measuring time in number wine bottles drunk is complicated. Mostly because it doesn’t increase in a linear fashion. The later bottles almost always reflect shorter periods of time.

[16] He would be very unsurprised to find the answer to this would be yes followed by denial that there was any link.

[17] Miraculously he managed to avoid spilling it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully the next chapter will take less time?


	5. Reasons of an Alcohol-Based Nature

Aziraphale hadn’t slept well. By the time he had calmed down enough to attempt it, he was no longer tired. Eventually he had settled for a few hours of turning over in his bed, waking up so frequently he doubted it had been worth trying. The lack of half his pyjamas, and questionably clean bedding hadn’t helped matters. His alarm had sounded for breakfast far too early.

“Why didn’t you stop us?”

“You both wanted to get married, it was quite sweet.” Anathema had the gall to smile at him when he sat down at her table. No sign of her fiancé, or, more importantly, his husband. Not that he would expect to see Crowley anywhere given the hour.

“It is not sweet. It was an awful idea and I would have hoped as my friend you would have stopped me from doing anything so foolish.” The lack of sleep had given him hours to mull over Crowley’s desire to fix things as fast as possible, legality be damned. That had led Aziraphale to the realisation that Crowley felt even worse than Aziraphale himself. Which was a very unwelcome thought.[1] He wasn’t expecting Crowley to be _happy_ about their situation, but the single-minded efficiency that he was tackling it with painted a very clear picture of Crowley’s thoughts on the matter. Not that Aziraphale didn’t feel the same. Obviously.

Anathema shrugged, she seemed unphased at the entire situation. 

“I’m sure Crowley can find all the paperwork and get it annulled. Hardly the first time this has happened round here.”

“I, yes. He’s looked. It’s not online though, so we have to wait until Monday.” Aziraphale left out that Crowley may be planning to get his hands on it regardless of opening hours. It was hard to have plausible deniability of the plan if he went around telling people. Anyway, that would give Anathema the impression that Crowley wanted things to be squared away more than Aziraphale did. Anathema poured herself more tea, apparently mulling over Aziraphale’s comment.

“There you go then. And it’s not like you consummated it anyway.” Aziraphale made the mistake of staring at his tea.[2]

“You did? I need details. How was it? How did you even manage, you two were so drunk!” Anathema’s delight as this development collapsed as Aziraphale, to his surprise and horror, burst into tears.

“I don’t know!”

Anathema, and what felt like the entire room, staring at him did not make Aziraphale feel better. He was crying. He should not have been crying. There was no reason for him to be crying, certainly not in public. Any second somebody was going to ask him what was wrong, and he would have to work out how to answer. He couldn’t begin to think of how to answer. The whole thing was a disaster. Worse, there wasn’t anything he could do about it. His only real option was to wait for Crowley to deal with it. Even that felt wrong, that he was somehow in a situation whereby his marriage was an _it_ to be dealt with. These things didn’t happen to Aziraphale. He’d neatly side-stepped situations; never had to deal with incidents. He hadn’t had to find a solution to anything more mortifying than forgetting a name at an inconvenient time, and even that had only been the once.[3] Crowley, on the other hand, hadn’t even hesitated before launching into action. Even if Aziraphale had known what to do, Crowley would have beat him to a solution. Crowley was good at dealing with things. Aziraphale on the other hand was quietly sobbing in a hotel restaurant for the dozens of whispering onlookers.

Eventually, he managed to get his breathing under control and blink away most of the moisture in his eyes. The skin around itched, irritated by the salt-laden tears. Anathema had passed him a _quite unnecessary_ number of napkins which while initially useful, now posed the issue of what to do with the small mountain that remained. The situation was off. All of it. Surely if two people were going to get drunk and end up married it should be the younger pair who can’t hold their alcohol and don’t have enough sense between them to avoid it. Certain it should be the couple in the group, not the two unattached grownups.[4] Although Aziraphale hadn’t even considered if Crowley had someone. He hadn’t mentioned anybody but that didn’t mean anything. Crowley had also failed to mention quite a few other details about his life.

“I don’t remember anything after you and Newton went to get some air.” Or rather, immediately after that when Crowley bet him that the couple had wandered off for an intimate moment. Quite possibly there had been tequila after that; there was definitely tequila before. Combined with a drinking game.

Anathema looked puzzled, and a touch guilty which probably indicated that Crowley had won the bet. Hopefully, he didn’t expect to claim the wager, Aziraphale couldn’t remember what it was.

“Then how do you know anything happened?”

“Crowley. There was,” Aziraphale stopped abruptly, as he remembered how Crowley had come to that particular conclusion. The entire restaurant did not need to hear that. Aziraphale hadn’t fully recovered from hearing it himself. “It’s not important.”

No small amount of intrusive questions later,[5] Anathema steered Aziraphale towards the coffee counter, clearly intent on continuing her interrogation once they had acquired more tea. The suggestion of cake as they waited in line made Aziraphale pause,

“Was the cake any good?”[6]

Aziraphale was vaguely aware that he hadn’t moved for quite a while when Anathema tugged him away from the cake display. The queue behind them had grown larger and less patient while he was lost in thought. Anathema sat him down and disappeared off. A few seconds later a too-hot cup was passed his way as she rejoined him with a pot of tea and no cake.

“I have some photos. Not of the wedding itself, the chapel are big on packages including photographs, but I got a few.” Aziraphale took the offered phone and flicked through the images, the two of them wearing suits, Crowley straightening Aziraphale’s bow tie, a clearly delighted Aziraphale pulling Crowley down for a kiss.

Aziraphale slid the phone back quickly, he couldn’t bear seeing more.

“Crowley left his phone in my room. Could you get it back to him?”

“You could just go give it to him yourself.” Aziraphale pictured knocking on Crowley’s door and handing over the phone. He would have to say something, one of them would. Barring slotting the phone under the door he would have to interact with Crowley directly.

“I would rather not.” Anathema was silent for several seconds. She eyed Aziraphale as she took the phones. Probably waiting for him to start crying again. Aziraphale wasn’t sure she was wrong to expect it. Surprise flashed across her face,

“You love him.”

“I do not. I,”

“You really love him.”

“No, no I don’t feel that. I can’t. We’re friends. That’s all there is to it.”

“You do. You love him and you’re upset because you think he doesn’t feel the same way.”

“That’s not. I never expected him to. I don’t want to be married to Crowley. This whole thing is awful.”

In truth, Aziraphale, in a vague far off way that sauntered in with the third bottle of wine and poked at your brain until long after, had thought there would always have been the possibility of them being together. Not so much the sex, though there were always plenty of thoughts when Crowley showed up with a grin and a bad idea.[7] It was the closeness, how easy it would be to slot into each other’s lives, talking and bickering over music and what constituted a suitable mixer for drinking spirits.[8] He hadn't filled his head with visions of them living together somewhere quiet,[9] but the nightmare Aziraphale found himself in closed the book on everything even vaguely resembling them being together. It tasted like defeat.

Maybe in a few years they would move past it, another anecdote of drunken mischief that they could laugh about. But there would be no more getting so drunk they given up on glasses and just passed a wine bottle between them, no jokes about Crowley moving into the bookshop since he slept there so often. They'd always be on their guard, waiting to stop whatever drunken impulse had led here.

“You need to tell him.” Madness. That was the only word for Anathema’s suggestion. Aziraphale couldn’t tell him. There was no way he could tell Crowley. He didn’t even know there was anything to tell. There wasn’t. His current feelings were a result of the shock. It was hardly surprising the whole incident had blurred his feelings towards Crowley. Anybody would feel a bit confused over it. Except Crowley. There was no doubt what Crowley’s feelings on the situation, on Aziraphale, were.

“He hasn’t stopped looking for a way out of this since he woke up yesterday. He doesn’t feel that way, he isn’t remotely interested. Any feelings on my side, however minor, don’t really come into it. I’m not going to burden him with some half-hearted nonsense.”

“What if he’s feeling the same?”

“He doesn’t. Crowley has made it perfectly clear how he feels. I believe I mentioned that he turned me down.” _On my birthday._ Aziraphale stopped short of including that detail, no point in reminding Anathema just how humiliating it had been. She remembered anyway. It was too much to hope for that she would forget any of the details he let slip.

“When you were really drunk.” Aziraphale thought back to the panicked look Crowley hadn’t quite managed to hide that night.

“I don’t think that was his only objection.” He hadn’t asked Crowley _why_ once he had sobered up, he didn’t need to. It was worrying how drunk Aziraphale must have been to ever expect Crowley to be open to any overtones from Aziraphale, especially those ranging from romantic to unapologetically sexual.

“Talk to him. How much worse can it get?”

* * *

Crowley’s phone buzzed across the room, he suspected it was Tracey asking why he missed his appointment. He probably had at least another hour of ignoring it before she actually called him. His record for ignoring his phone was six hours,[10] he wasn’t intentionally ignoring it this time. Well not entirely. After accidentally falling asleep at Aziraphale’s shop and waking up covered by a tartan blanket, he had scarpered to the Bentley far too early and slept off the rest of his hangover. He was glad to find that he had parked in a nearby alley where Aziraphale wouldn’t notice the car’s presence. He hadn’t made it back to his flat until late afternoon. _Attending_ his appointment would have required a time machine.[11]

The shower was helping. It was just hot enough to border on painful which was helping him think. The previous night had been a mess. Or rather, he had been a compete shit to Aziraphale. He wasn’t even sure where to start thinking through it. Crowley had thought it would be amusing to wind Aziraphale up, which was clearly not okay in itself, and worse, he’d had completely misjudged the situation and _well_. He couldn’t think of a reason he had been so quick to assume that Aziraphale was anything other than Crowley’s initial impressions of him. He had probably been looking for evidence he had been wrong. Tracey would probably put it into a neat little circle and go on about patterns of behaviour and not assuming the worst of everybody he met. She’d use coloured pens; he could already see it. He couldn’t even avoid it by not mentioning what had happened; she knew he’d been there. If Crowley didn’t mention it, she would ask him why not. All of this could be avoided by not making any appointments and dealing with everything on his own, as if that had ever worked for him.

That _brilliant_ line of reasoning, was why Crowley had ignored four texts and was planning to let his phone ring out. He’d stop putting it off soon, acknowledge his past coping strategies of alcohol and almost-regrettable sex[12] were not going to help with how he was feeling. That was a while off though. For now, he could pretend that he would process it better drunk and ignore the piles of evidence that disproved that. He’d probably have a drink before emailing to make another appointment with Tracey, but he would make an appointment.

He had not anticipated his doorbell ringing though. Again. And again. After the fifth ring, he gave up and threw on enough clothing to answer the door to a very patient and understanding therapist who, given her appearance, clearly had plans for the evening that hadn’t included harassing Crowley.

“I charge extra for a call out, Mr Crowley.”

*

Aziraphale hung up the phone. He hadn’t actually answered it, just lifted the receiver an inch before placed it back to disconnect the call. It was the fourth of the day from an unfortunately persistent would-be customer. He was grateful they lived too far away to bother him in person at least. Not that it would have been any less difficult for them had they made it to the bookshop. Aziraphale was very experienced in avoiding sales, regardless of the distance. The first obstacle was deciphering the opening hours.[13]

“So I shouldn’t call the shop?” Aziraphale jumped at the voice, he hadn’t noticed the shop bell over the ringing phone. Crowley was half through the door, leaning against the frame.

“What do you want?” There was no reason for Crowley to be at the bookshop, Aziraphale hadn’t planned for him turning up. He couldn’t go with his plans for any other occasion, pretending they didn’t know each other, if Crowley called at the bookshop.

“Why do I have to want something?”

“I’m supposed to believe you’re just here to what, buy books?” Crowley eyebrows lifted,

“Angel, if I wanted to buy a book, I would go somewhere that actually sells them.”

“I sell books.”

“You hoard them.”

“I do not.” Aziraphale moved from his desk, was he supposed to be expecting Crowley? They hadn’t talked about Crowley coming to the bookshop. His phone hadn’t dinged at him, so it wasn’t like Crowley had told Aziraphale he was coming. Crowley didn’t move inside. He was still standing hesitantly in the doorway, apparently waiting for some kind of invitation to enter. A casual grin was plastered across his face, it couldn’t have looked more forced if somebody had taken superglue to it. He held a bottle out towards Aziraphale as he approached.

“I brought wine to apologise for drinking all of yours.”

“As if you aren’t here to cause trouble.” The arm holding the bottle dropped to Crowley’s side,

“I can go if you like. Really. Mostly just here for alcohol-based reasons.”

“I don’t,” _believe you_ was what Aziraphale wanted to say. Crowley lied; he lied a lot. Aziraphale had absolutely no reason to believe Crowley.

Except, against all reasoning, he did. “Very well, would you like to share it?” The not-forced-in-the-slightest smile Crowley gave him in response was breathtaking.

“Sure.”

Aziraphale was thankful he knew the layout of the small kitchen well enough to produce wine glasses without needing to think. His mind was too busy dealing with the reality that Crowley was in the bookshop. Crowley had voluntarily come to the bookshop to see him. Aziraphale still wasn’t sure why. He was potentially checking Aziraphale hadn’t fallen apart in the week since Crowley had been there. It hadn’t been a surprise to find Crowley had left at some point while Aziraphale was asleep; he was probably regretting wasting his night looking after Aziraphale too much to waste the following day too. Whatever mischief he had planned had gone to waste because he was busy with Aziraphale. An obligation. Crowley’s night ruined because Aziraphale couldn’t deal with being at a party. Aziraphale considered the facts. They did not amount to anything resembling a reason Crowley would return to the bookshop, let alone seem genuinely pleased that he would get to spend more time with Aziraphale.

“Need a hand, Angel?” The voice shook Aziraphale from his musings, while conjuring anew errant thoughts of a more pleasant but equally unwelcome nature as he tried to calm down. He hurried the glasses back through to find Crowley slouched on the sofa. The phone on his desk rang, before Aziraphale could hurry over to hang up Crowley had picked up the phone and placed it on the desk. He looked up with a lazy smirk,

“Can’t redial if your engaged, right?” The question hovered for a moment as Crowley hesitated in pulling back his hand. Aziraphale smiled and set the glasses down between them. He wasn’t sure why Crowley wanted to be there, but it would be a shame to let that ruin what could be a pleasant afternoon.

*

“O for oestrogen,[14] W for wrap, L for L, E for eukaryotes, and Y for Ypsilanti.” Aziraphale looked bemused as Crowley finished the call, he hadn’t yet pointed out Crowley was very definitely breaking the no phones rule, but those were for _customers_.[15] “Yep, it’s the one by the tree next to the black door. Can’t miss it.” Aziraphale hadn’t really given Crowley any rules for his presence in the shop so he’d come up with his own. He always brought alcohol, never stayed after they finished drinking, never visited more than two days in a row, and kept his sunglasses on in case Aziraphale asked any other questions Crowley didn’t want to answer. [16] Crowley flopped onto the sofa as usual, Aziraphale hadn’t complained about it yet. He caught Aziraphale’s eye as he continued to scribble at his desk.

“Just writing a letter apologizing to a customer. The book they ordered was lost during shipping.” Crowley rolled his eyes at Aziraphale’s customer service, not that his was any better; he hadn’t answered his emails in a week.

“Sorry, know we said two. I was up late.” Aziraphale looked at him and frown before turning back to his desk.

“A good evening then?”

The silence prickled around Crowley, almost tangible in the suddenly too-still shop. Crowley glanced to the clock. Late probably didn’t extend to four hours after they arranged to meet. He had managed to send a message that he wouldn’t make it and to eat without him. Not great but he was in no state to get across London to the bookshop any earlier. Crowley had hoped to turn lunch plans into dinner plans, but it seemed something he’d done since sitting down had upset Aziraphale. He just wasn’t sure _what._ Crowley’s mind hunted for the trap. There definitely was one, Aziraphale asked his question far too delicately for it to be genuine. They hadn’t had plans the previous evening, he hadn’t shared the email Gabriel had accidentally sent to a somewhat _compromised_ internal mailing list about a new pay structure,[17] he hadn’t even accidentally helped a customer.

If he knew more, perhaps he could work out what he had done and fix it. Tracey, the overpaid professional that she was, had suggested Crowley found it easier to get on with Aziraphale because of the lack information Crowley could find online. This clearly wasn’t the case; he met plenty of people he hadn’t even googled. He found out they were shit people either way, and it wasted less time if he knew from the start rather than waiting for the inevitable disappointment. Worse, it meant he didn’t know what they wanted, what would annoy them. He didn’t want to annoy Aziraphale.[18] Not because Crowley would be a good friend; realistically, he had almost no experience with friends, and his experience with acquaintances was questionable at best. Still, he was fairly certain friends were supposed to share stuff.

He glanced up at Aziraphale who seemed very focused on not looking at Crowley. Right, sharing. He could do sharing. Loads of people managed sharing.

“Awful. Work stuff. Sort of.” Sort of, in the sense that he _wasn’t_ working when the guy had started chatting him up at the bar, but around the second drink something was mentioned. The outcome was Crowley borrowing his phone and forwarding several incriminating emails to the intern that Bar Guy had been harassing complete with a suggested charity that helped with employment law rather than putting in his own number as stated. Then he went home alone, dealt with a misbehaving plant, and drank more than his recommended weekly alcohol units very quickly.

Crowley waited for the deflection to be acknowledged. That was something he knew Aziraphale wouldn’t question. The endlessly vague nebula of _work_. He got a hum which sounded less suspicious than the previous question, but not exactly accepting.

“I got drunk in my flat and woke up snuggling a bottle of absinthe.” [19] Crowley said that more quietly, hoping Aziraphale wouldn’t ask the basic question of _why_. The reply he received was far too chipper.

“Ah, so you’re hoping I can laetificate.” Crowley gave a groan more for his own amusement than anything else. The clear switch in conversation confirmed that whatever he had done to upset Aziraphale was forgiven.

He took the change in topic as the gift it was.

 _“Laetificate_ , really? But all music composed in the last century is bebop.” Aziraphale gave a small as he folded the letter into its envelope.

“It _is_ bebop. Besides, it’s a perfectly good word, my dear.”

“It was a perfectly good word in whatever priceless book you read it in.”

“It’s not my fault you limit your reading to whatever fits on your phone screen.” Crowley lowered his glasses so Aziraphale could clearly see him roll his eyes. He’d be more relieved that Aziraphale hadn’t pressed for more information if he knew what had upset him in the first place. Clearly it wasn’t only that he was late if ‘work stuff’ wasn’t okay but being too hungover was fine. Crowley considered asking what had upset Aziraphale before discarding the possibility. He didn’t know what Aziraphale would say, although he suspected it would a be denial that anything was wrong. And then what? If he got an answer he would need to respond. There were too many unknowns. Aziraphale had never wanted to know what Crowley was doing for work. That was how it worked. Otherwise, Aziraphale would be worried he’d say something he shouldn’t, and Crowley would, well it would be a bad idea. Terrible, if it got back to the wrong people.

“Dinner?”

*

“I don’t want the customers hanging around using it.”

“It’s the twenty first century, Angel. Everyone has internet at home, they’re not going to hang around here to use it. You don’t even have seating; they could hang around a park bench more comfortably.” Aziraphale did in fact have seating in the bookshop; Crowley was draped across it as usual. Aziraphale wasn’t sure how it came to _be_ usual, Crowley just showed up every few days and played on his phone while Aziraphale worked around him. It had been odd the first few times, waiting for Crowley to say something. To reveal the nefarious scheme he had been concocting. [20] But within a few weeks Aziraphale was used to having Crowley around, commentating throughout the day, or complaining.[21] Aziraphale would have vehemently denied any claims that he wasn’t happy alone in his bookshop, but having Crowley there was _nice_. Some days Aziraphale would drag Crowley out for food, almost literally; Crowley seemed to function entirely on coffee, alcohol, and processed sugar from what Aziraphale could tell. Other days, Crowley would be around for a couple of hours before his phone dinged and he shot off, presumably to work. He didn’t tend to explain where he was heading. _Out_. He had stopped disappearing without telling Aziraphale once Aziraphale had mentioned it. The occasions Aziraphale had found himself talking to the empty space Crowley had occupied were rather embarrassing to say the least. Crowley had seemed genuinely confused that Aziraphale would want to know he was leaving. Or when he would be coming back. 

Aziraphale realised after a few close calls that Anathema and Crowley should not meet. Well, not at the bookshop. Aziraphale wasn’t sure he was up to explaining that he hadn’t kept Anathema up to date with the developing Crowley situation after that first text.[22] Introducing the two would not end well; there would be conspiring. Happily, the pair kept almost opposite schedules. Anathema usually called in the early morning before he was open. PhD finished, she didn’t have to spend every waking hour pouring over primary sources and usually didn’t stay for more than an hour without checking Aziraphale would be free first. Crowley - _Oh Satan, please tell me it’s not the morning_ – hadn’t yet arrived before midday. The one visit he arrived at one o’clock, he had fallen asleep on the sofa and then disappeared.[23]

“So theoretically, if you could have internet without the customers being able to use it, that would be acceptable.”

“Well yes, but I have no real need for it.” Aziraphale had decided this lack of need the moment Gabriel had started bugging him about answering emails Aziraphale had no interest in. Far easier to not see any emails if he didn’t have a way to access them at all hours. Or, preferably, at all. It had worked for a few years and then he’d received a fancy phone as a Christmas gift one year.[24]

“No need for it? Angel, how do you find books?”

“I use the computers at the library. And newspapers.” Crowley didn’t reply, which wasn’t entirely unexpected. He was probably trying to get a workable signal on his phone. The lack of one had prompted the entire conversation. Aziraphale finished regluing the spine of his latest acquisition and placed it away carefully. The talk of customers reminded him that he still hadn’t mentioned one Crowley needed to know about.

“I had an interesting customer this week.” Aziraphale kept his tone light, relaxed. “Well, it was Monday actually, but I forgot to mention it.” He hadn’t. He had just failed to work up the nerve for most of the week.

“Customer implies you’re willing to sell the books, Angel.”

“Oh hush. Anyway, they weren’t looking for a book.”

“Found the right bookshop then.”

“I think they were looking for you.” Crowley froze. “They said to tell Crawly to check his emails. Quite short, they had black hair.” Aziraphale had tried to believe they weren’t referring to Crowley, but it hadn’t worked.

“Looked like they might stab someone?” Aziraphale nodded,

“I suppose.”

“Just them?” Aziraphale nodded.

“Were you expecting more?”

“No, that’s,” Crowley stood up. “That’s just Bee. I’ll handle it. Nothing to worry about, Angel.”

“Are they,” Aziraphale wasn’t sure where that question had been going. Crowley hadn’t said much about his past. Which was fine, mostly. Given the little Crowley had said regarding his history, Aziraphale wasn’t going to begrudge his silence on the matter. But someone tracking Crowley to the bookshop was different.

“Someone I used to know.”

“They didn’t seem particularly friendly.”

“They take some getting used to. Bee and I had a disagreement a few years ago. Work stuff.” Aziraphale’s mouth twitched into a frown. Work stuff. Initially it had covered just that. Aziraphale was starting to suspect it was now covering anything Crowley didn’t want to talk about.

“Ah. Are they likely to come back?”

“No, I’ll sort it out. Don’t worry.” Crowley’s thumbs flew across his phone screen as he left, presumably to sort out whatever it was Bee had wanted.

*

Crowley hated the pub Bee insisted on meeting in. It was dark, too dark to see properly through his glasses and yet the flickering lights that buzzed overhead threatening to go out completely every few minutes would mean at least a day of hiding in his bed until his head stopped hammering. Bee knew that. That’s why they chose it. Crowley fiddled with a beer coaster, the need to fidget increased as Bee sat opposite in silence for five minutes before Crowley gave in and spoke first.

“You don’t have to go to the bookshop; you have my number.”

“You don’t have to ignore messages for the first time in years.”

“I was busy.” That wasn’t exactly why he hadn’t responded to their email. He wasn’t supposed to respond to the email.[25] The lack of a reply gave Bee a reason to show up and tell him what the issue was.

“Yes, with your bookshop owner.” _Ah._

“We’re friends. He doesn’t know anything. We don’t talk about work stuff.” Bee glared. Or rather, they looked. Bee didn’t go in for non-threatening eye contact. It had been years since that had bothered Crowley. He learnt quickly that if he managed to piss them off, he should be less worried about the dirty looks and more about making sure killing him would be as inconvenient as possible. Not that Bee was likely to do anything on this occasion; they had been the one to reach out to him.

“Hastur mentioned how flammable bookshops are.”

“He doesn’t need to worry about it.” Crowley replied too quickly, defensive. Bee didn’t hesitate.

“You like the guy? What were you thinking? He knows you. You want him to believe you’re not the snake he thinks you are, trying to find loopholes and excuses. They don’t _do_ excuses.”

“I know!” Too loud, the barman’s head shot up, watching the pair for any sign of trouble. Probably not used to loud noises, given the lack of business. They were the only people there, except the old man sat at the bar.[26] “I know. I’m not making excuses. We’re friends. We’re _just_ friends, nothing to do with his family or anything. It’s not my fault Hastur’s paranoid. Two years ago, he was convinced you were trying something.”

“I was.”

“That’s not,” Crowley finished his drink, it burnt as it hit the back of his throat. “I know what we agreed. Surprised Luke is stupid enough to think I would be as reckless as you.”

“Don’t push it, Crawly.”

“Crowley.” Bee rolled their eyes at the correction. “I’m not looking to cause trouble. I want nothing to do with them.” Bee finished their own drink and stood up, apparently satisfied with the answer.

“I’ll tell them you’re being an idiot but not one with a death wish.”

“Right. Wonderful catch up, let’s not do it again.”

*

Aziraphale doubted he even noticed the first few times it had happened. Candles did, after all, burn out on occasion. Except it kept happening. Weeks of mysterious candle-based confusion lay over the shop. It couldn't be a draft, not over several locations and only intermittently snuffing out the flames. Aziraphale knew the candle brand was reliable, besides when he moved the shop candles up to his flat there were never any issues. It was all rather odd, until Aziraphale noticed a common thread. One that required a careful approach. 

“I could have sworn I lit these this morning.” Aziraphale knew he had. He also knew they had been lit when he left the back room to make a pot of tea. Those facts, coupled with the sole occupant of the room being present for many other candle related mysteries, led to a single conclusion.

“Candles, Angel. Unreliable.”

“My dear, do you dislike candles?” Crowley stilled for a second. _A Ha!_

“Why would you think that, Angel?”

“You keep blowing them out. And I don't think you’re doing it just to annoy me.”

“I might be.” The contrary tone Crowley muttered sounded defeated; he didn’t want to admit he had an agenda.

“What’s changed? You never worried about them before.”

“I’m not worried about them now.”

“Come on, my dear. We both know you wouldn’t be doing it without a reason.”

“Annoying you is a perfectly good reason.”

“Crowley.”

“Angel, this place is a death trap. The whole place is dry and very, very flammable.”

“It's always been fine.” Aziraphale looked around. It was true, bookshops were bad places to have fires. Which was why he didn’t intend to have one. Crowley made a noise of disagreement before pulling out his phone apparently done with the conversation. Aziraphale wasn’t sure why he had expected anything else. He was relieved Crowley wasn’t trying to pass off blowing out candles as being work related. He had been putting off pointing out Crowley’s habit of claiming anything he didn’t want to share involved his work but if he had tried it with the candles Aziraphale would have needed to say something. Obviously, all manner of poorly attempted disguises Crowley wore as he stopped by for a drink were connected to with his work.[27] He wasn’t convinced Crowley drinking alone in his flat was, unless it was prompted by a work incident. That thought led to the uncomfortable trail of why it had bothered him so much when Crowley mention a late night. He’d assumed Crowley had been with somebody, Aziraphale hated the relief he had felt on hearing that wasn’t the case. They were friends, Aziraphale _hoped_ they were friends. He had no business digging into what else Crowley did with his time. It was completely ridiculous.

Neither of them mentioned the candles the next time Crowley visited; he stopped blow them out. It was nearly a week later Aziraphale caught him eyeing them every few minutes, expecting the tea lights to morph into an unstoppable inferno. After that, they were only starting their second bottle of the night when Aziraphale realised Crowley looked incredibly uncomfortable when he didn’t know Aziraphale was looking. Hunching up when something was knocked over, constantly scanning the room; even the boneless lounging had more angles to it than before. His own thoughts on the dangers of tiny candles in carefully thought out spaces aside, Crowley was worried. Crowley was scared. And yet Crowley wasn’t going to ask him to not light them, let alone remove them entirely. Aziraphale moved most of the candles upstairs as soon as Crowley was out the door.

* * *

[1] That feeling itself was itself, unwelcome. From there the unwelcome thoughts spiralled.

[2] Although the result would have been much the same regardless of where he looked.

[3] He’d covered well, he thought. Then again, he wasn’t too sure of the etiquette of getting a man you drunkenly brought home to leave before the college porters noticed he hadn’t signed out of the visitor’s log.

[4] Crowley had dubbed them that after a large portion of the group had decided clubbing was on the agenda and left Crowley and Aziraphale to their own devices.

[5] Although even the discreet questions were difficult to answer.

[6] Aziraphale was not, to some people’s surprise, one to have his wedding cake picked out. He had his favourite bakeries and cakes. However, as far as he had pictured a possible future that included a wedding, he had been looking forward to the cake tasting.

[7] Due to a quirk in the method of rounding numbers based on memorable arrivals, this accounted for 100% of occasions Crowley visited the bookshop.

[8] Despite Crowley’s objections, a second equally strong alcoholic beverage was determined not to count.

[9] Those thoughts, as far as Aziraphale was concerned, originated entirely from the alcohol.

[10] He hadn’t repeated it as that was the point at which Tracey had shown up at his door and refused to go away until he gave in and sent her a text that he was fine and she was pissing off his neighbours.

[11] Or at least, remembering he had an appointment.

[12] These days, now Crowley had _standards_ , most of the regret was the solo aspect of the activity. He had no issues with the quality.

[13] Aziraphale didn’t actually stick to the opening hours posted to his door, but he felt he should have them displayed all the same. Preferably next to previous versions with different times.

[14] ~~English~~ _Correct_ spelling.

[15] Crowley wasn’t stupid enough to attempt buying a book from Aziraphale.

[16] Rules are for breaking. Except the first one. BYOB, it’s polite.

[17] Yet.

[18] Or at least he only wanted to annoy him when it was intentional.

[19] This wasn’t a lie. It just skipped the vast majority of the story.

[20] Any plan of a mischievous or greater level of malevolence automatically gets upgraded to a scheme. There is a large overlap between schemes and plots which mostly comes down to how likely they are to succeed.

[21] Aziraphale knew more about Crowley’s neighbours than he suspected even Crowley himself should.

[22] He was even less prepared to explain how much Anathema knew about Crowley.

[23] Crowley hadn’t meant to fall asleep; he certainly hadn’t meant to wake up covered in an incredibly soft but awfully patterned blanket. It was harder to argue that he hadn’t meant to _steal_ said blanket given its relocation to his flat, but Aziraphale hadn’t mentioned it.

[24] His new excuse of never knowing how to use the phone worked far better, as* he wasn’t lying.

*due to a resolute determination to not learn how to use said phone,

[25] And really, there wasn’t a good response to an invitation to meet for a drink when said invite seemed to imply the main activity for the night would be harvesting your own organs using blunt spoons.

[26] There are several types of pub, depending on where in the country you find yourself. Those with bad lighting, too dark furniture and a permanent smell of stale beer all have at least one resident old man. Some establishments cultivate two or three, presumably for when one of them is never seen again. In these instances, a spare old man is needed immediately, finding one can be difficult due to the demands on the liver and the number of other pubs in the same situation.

[27] Aziraphale had pointed out he didn’t make a particularly convincing waiter. Crowley had just told him that was the entire point.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: This chapter alone is longer than my university dissertation.
> 
> I'm thinking of uploading a version of this in chronological order if people would want that? I know they split time frame can be a bit annoying.


	6. Survival Instincts: If Found Please Return

“He found my phone and what? Gave it to your witch girl to pass along? Rather than just handing it over himself.” Newt didn’t really deserve Crowley’s anger and Crowley knew it. He also really needed to be pissed at somebody who wasn’t himself. It was the second of the two that was currently winning.

“I could ask him to,”

“No, no it’s fine. It’s just,” Crowley took the phone. “It’s fine.” He went back to his laptop, and the bottle of whiskey he had been getting though faster than intended.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Crowley glanced up at Newt.

“It’s not like I’ve had any better ones this weekend.” Calling room service and offering them large tips for getting him food and alcohol had been one of his better ideas.

“Anathema said you might need a hand. I well, you see, I don’t really.” Crowley cut him off, mostly out of sympathy for the commas that were about to be misused.

“Do you have a time machine?”

“Well, not exactly.”

“Then I’m fine.”

“Right. Only, I said I would stop by and help.”

“You gave me my phone, that helped. You can help more by leaving me to have a shower in peace.”

Crowley leant against the cool tiles and let his back slide down them until he arrived at the floor; it didn’t help. A shower had been a great idea. Or would have been if he hadn’t already consumed far too much whiskey. The heat was making him lightheaded, which was doing nothing to help him plan how he was going to stop fucking the situation up more than he had already managed. He wasn’t going to make things any harder for Aziraphale. Crowley couldn’t do anything to change what had happened.[1] The best he could do, once he had sobered up enough to attempt standing up, was to sort out the entire thing as quickly as possible. He couldn’t remember much, but all evidence pointed to Crowley completely fucking up. Apparently, he couldn’t keep his feelings under wraps for one weekend. No wonder Aziraphale was upset with him. Upset in a way that wouldn’t be forgiven. All Crowley could do was pick up the paperwork, get both signatures[2] and then avoid thinking about it for the rest of his life. He could do that.

Most of the evening was a blur. At some point Crowley clearly lost his mind. If, or rather _when_ news reached London, more specifically his old colleagues, Crowley was dead. Or at least heading swiftly in that direction. Which was why he needed to fix everything before they found out. The sooner it was over the safer he was, the safer Aziraphale was. Crowley couldn’t remember why he had forgotten that. Or what the fuck had made him ignore it. Sure, alcohol had been consumed but he could generally still manage a basic survival instinct.

Several hours of dedicated attempted to piece together what happened had been started earlier in the day, and then quickly abandoned when Crowley realised he didn’t really want to remember it. Remembering it would make the thing seem real. The running tally of hours he had been married to Aziraphale his brain had been supplying since Crowley spotted the time stamp of the emailed receipt wasn’t helping on that front either. Thus, whiskey.

From what Crowley could remember, the night had been a train wreck. There had been tequila, and some kind of bet. Aziraphale had shown him something on a phone, presumably Aziraphale’s. His hair had been soft. Crowley was fairly certain that detail didn’t add to understanding the night, but it seemed important anyway.

More shots. Presumably tequila, definitely alcoholic. Then tripping over a bottle trying to get out of his jeans. More evidence Crowley wasn’t thinking. He never took his jeans off in front of somebody.[3] Aziraphale diving for something in Crowley’s hands, and nearly sending them both off the bed. Which was impressive given the size of the beds. Hair pulling, which Crowley wished he hadn’t been able to recall, if only because he was fairly certain he would never live down _that_ noise.

Ultimately, there was nothing that explained what the fuck Crowley had been thinking. Firstly, he had very definitely decided that any feelings he had for Aziraphale were never going to be explored or confessed. That had clearly gone out the window. Secondly, he had no idea how he was going to explain the situation, let alone in a way that wouldn’t just make it worse. The shower continued to pound on Crowley’s head, he reached up to turn it off. [4] He needed to call Bee, but that would wait until he had something, he could even begin to pretend was an excuse. Which was why he called Tracey.

* * *

Crowley had been thrown to find the bookshop door locked when he arrived. Not that Aziraphale usually had it unlocked at expected times, that would have encouraged customers. But he did leave it open if Crowley was planning to visit. Until now. Crowley knocked. He wasn’t sure what to do if Aziraphale wasn’t in. They had agreed to meet for lunch, and possibly a walk around St. James’s if the weather held, but it wasn’t like Crowley has specified a time. He waited a moment before turning back to the Bentley. The noise of locks clicking to open the door came barely a second later.

“My apologies, I had a customer to buy something this morning.” Crowley grinned. Aziraphale seemed to have rushed across the bookshop to get to the door his reading glasses were still in place, if a little precarious. Crowley slipped through the narrow gap without thinking and found himself far closer to Aziraphale than he usually allowed himself to get. The few seconds it took for Aziraphale to notice the same thing and the awkward dance to correct it left an odd pause. Crowley wasn’t blushing, he didn’t do blushing.[5]

“Buying something in a bookshop, who could imagine that?”

“Sadly, the internet connection was poor, and the card reader wasn’t working.” Crowley set up wi-fi in the shop the previous week while giving an admittedly repetitive monologue regarding Aziraphale not living in the current century. Customers were particularly upset by the badly hand-written password Crowley had taped to the back of the door. A number had given up and left when Aziraphale revealed he had no ability to clarify if the confusing smudged letter was an l, an I, or even a 1.[6] He had also taken the time to set up a new internet-based payment system and a discreet but handy button that disconnected it entirely when pushed. Aziraphale had been very taken with that feature.

“Sorry to hear that, Angel. I take it they didn’t have the cash on hand.”

“No, and it appears they haven’t made it back before I closed for lunch.”

“You utter bastard. I take it the book is going to be reshelved where they can find it easily tomorrow.”

“Of course not; it shouldn’t have been on the shelves anyway. It needs restoration, it’s in dreadful condition.” Crowley picked up the book that lay on the counter, it was pristine. Aziraphale said nothing.

“Anyway, where’s lunch today? Thai? Sushi?” Crowley had accepted Aziraphale’s insistence that he chose where to eat a grand total of one time. After which Aziraphale stopped trying to get him to pick somewhere. He hadn’t chosen badly on purpose, but as he had clarified beforehand, Crowley really didn’t care what the food was like provided there was wine or decent coffee.[7]

“I thought perhaps we could try one of the tea rooms off St James’s. There’s one that does marvelous Victoria sponge.”

“Not worried it will be a bit _peristeronic_?”

“Why would there be pigeons? There’s indoor seating.” Crowley sighed as he pulled his phone out and deleted yet another entry from his word list. And several others that he had added while drunk that weren’t actual words. That would be cheating.

“No reason. Sounds good, Angel. Lead the way.”

*

“I do wish you’d called ahead. I have quite a busy morning you see.” Aziraphale glanced to the clock relieved to find it was still morning, “Customers you understand.” Aziraphale had decided to open at a reasonable time that morning. Granted it wasn’t any of the opening times displayed on the door, but still, he was open. Which had meant he couldn’t pretend to be out when Gabriel strode through the door. Aziraphale’s day had gone downhill from there.

“You don’t have customers; this place has been losing money since you opened it.” Aziraphale tried to keep organizing his papers, looking busy. He found that helped, it meant he didn’t need to stop and talk with Gabriel.

“That’s not your concern, I’m financing it anyway.” Gabriel gave an annoyed sigh and then stopped suddenly.

“Something’s off.” Aziraphale froze holding whatever he had piled on his desk, invoices for restorations it seemed. Possibly with a some notes he was making regarding his latest target.[8]He didn’t think Crowley had left anything behind the previous night, but Gabriel had clearly noticed something had changed. Aziraphale had tidied away the bottles and glasses that had been left out before he opened for the day. He didn’t think there was anything else but if there was Gabriel would no doubt have spotted it. “When did you get wi-fi?”

Relief washed over Aziraphale that it wasn’t something directly incriminating Crowley. Then he remembered he still needed to explain his sudden desire for internet access.

“Oh, you mean the internet. Yes, that is erm new. Lets me connect my computer to the web thing and look for books. I had some people come and sort it out. Haven’t the foggiest how it all works. They said something about connecting to it from phones, just need the erm, password.” Aziraphale was rambling.[9] Gabriel seemed to accept the explanation, or lack of one at least.

“Well?”

“Hmm?”

“What’s the password”

“Oh, I must have it here somewhere. They wrote it down for me.” Aziraphale had moved it from the door after one rather determined customer made a note clarifying that the S was in fact a 5. “I seem to have misplaced it. Lose my own head next.” Gabriel let out a laugh,

“That’s the Aziraphale I know. Had me worried there, Sunshine. Getting up to date with technology all of a sudden.” Aziraphale forced a smile,

“Still getting used to it. I don’t expect I’ll use it for much.”

“Let me know if I need to send somebody across to help out, set up your email. I’d do it myself, but I have a meeting with Michael and Uriel. New marketing strategy, we’re going to track which clients want,” Aziraphale let his eyes glaze over as Gabriel outlined the latest plan to separate companies from their money. He should have worked out a better excuse for his newly installed internet connection. One that didn’t involve Crowley showing up with a couple of boxes and the suggestion that it would make the customers less likely to stay if he set it up. He had taken to using it quite frequently once Crowley had shown him the restaurants that were willing to deliver food no longer amounted to a mix of questionable late-night takeaways. Not to mention the several book-auction sites that were now set to notify him of upcoming events. He even emailed Anathema since her visits had dwindled as she was organising her new posting to the university.

“Zira?” Aziraphale looked back to Gabriel, he seemed to have asked something. Annoyance bloomed over Gabriel’s face as he realised Aziraphale hadn’t been listening. “Your birthday, we decided to have a family meal again this year, so make sure you’re free.”

“Oh, well I,”

“Not a problem, happy to organise it, as usual. I need to get going, at this rate I’ll be late for that meeting.” Aziraphale managed to hold his smile until Gabriel left the bookshop. He locked the door after him and flipped to sign to closed.

*

“That’s the trouble with them, all the description and atmosphere just get translated into a few chairs and tables that can be moved easily. Might as well replace swan lake with a load of ducks in a pond.”

“I like ducks.” Crowley did indeed like ducks. He liked a lot of things recently. The wine Aziraphale had suggested earlier that night was high on the list.[10] He liked the bookshop too, although that was probably because Aziraphale was there. As far as ducks went, Aziraphale would be the best duck. Or possibly a swan, although they were temperamental buggers. Good birds besides that, all fancy and going around in pairs. He’d make a shit swan. Or one of those black ones which are good and dramatic but really don’t stand out besides the white ones. Were there nocturnal swans? Did different types of swans end up pairing up? He’d only seen the white ones doing that, but that’s swans for you. They’re basically pretty geese and well, _geese_. The ducks were good though. All different types and colours. Loads of different ones. The small black ones with red beaks seemed alright and the standard duck-like ducks didn’t have an issue with them being there.

“And then they try to portray the relationships as being simple. Like that one with the dancing and the prisoners, it’s not multifaceted in the slightest. And don’t get me started on that adaptation of La bohème, the characters are awful, and the plot is so simplified.” Aziraphale was nearing the end of his rant. Crowley had been listening, he just hadn’t taken anything in beyond enjoying the silly word choices and relaxing tone.

“What sorry?”

“It’s all about sex.” Crowley was helpless as his thoughts base jumped from his duck infested musing into the larger-than-he-would-like-to-admit area of his brain that spent far too much time pondering the concepts of Aziraphale and Sex and how the two could be connected.[11]

“What, with ducks? Wouldn’t recommend it.”[12]

“No! All the musicals and films based on books.” Crowley conceded that made far more sense than duck inspired urges. Silicon and other waterproof material ducks aside, there’s a limit somewhere in the vicinity of actual quacking. Feathers admittedly did have their place.

“Be fair, they are trying to cover the Hirquiticke market.”

“What do horn, ah _adolescents_. That one does capture the smell of teenage boys rather accurately. Still, they can’t make up the entire audience.”

“Hang on. Why do you even know that one? Do you realise how long it took me to find that one?” Aziraphale just smiled to himself and sipped at his wine. Crowley tried to at least pretend to be annoyed, it wasn’t his fault his mouth was not being a team player and attempted to grin back.

“What does this have to do with ducks again?”

“Crowley were you even listening? I was explaining how the film industry completely fails to properly translate,” Crowley poured himself more wine as Aziraphale restarted his list of problems with adapting books into films and musicals. The bottle was nearly empty, but he was fairly certain there had been another somewhere nearby.

*

It shouldn’t have been a surprise. Aziraphale had been fluttering around trying to find an excuse to not attend some industry award evening most of the afternoon. When Crowley had pulled out a pair of coloured contacts and a rather worrying wig, then asked if Aziraphale knew what time the night was supposed to wrap up, he had to sit down.

"No, you can't." Crowley didn't look up from his mirror,

"Can't what?"

"Can't ask me to help you with whatever scheme your cooking up."

"Scheme? Angel I just want to know when things are finishing. Not that difficult-"

"So you’re not going to be there?” Crowley blinked away his surprise at being cut off before turning to actually look at Aziraphale.

“You don’t want me there, Angel. You’ll be worried about someone realizing we know each other.”

“I don’t want to be there at all, your presence hardly comes into it.”

“Yes, and you can tell that to your family, I’ll throw a fucking party.[13] But if you are going to go and be miserable anyway, you can tell me when it is supposed to finish. I can check on my phone if I need to. I just thought I would ask, given that you know anyway.” Aziraphale wasn’t sure if that was better or worse.

"And then what?"

"Well I was going to suggest I bring some wine over but if you’re just going to be pissy,”

“ _Pissy_? I am not acting pissy! You’re clearly planning something.”

“One of the speakers has a habit of leaving his laptop in his car.”

“No! That is, absolutely out of the question. I can’t believe you’d even ask me to help you steal-”

“I’m not going to steal it. If I _were_ going to steal it, I’d just use a rock and grab it as soon as he went in.” Crowley paused, almost as though he were now considering that as an option. “I’ve got the files I need. I just need it to look like I got them from his laptop, rather than the secretary he annoyed a few weeks ago. People will ask questions, could put them in a tricky position. If someone got into his car and very clearly messed with the laptop, no one needs to know where the files actually came from.”

“What are the files? No, don’t tell me. I don’t want to know.”

“Wasn’t going to.”

“Good. I’m still not helping.”

“Fine.” Crowley made a show of pulled out his phone, watching Aziraphale face as he tapped away. “Half eleven. Drinks after? I can still bring wine.”

Crowley was nearly certain his current bad mood wasn't his fault. Tracey, nightmare that she often was when Crowley didn’t want to talk about something, had spent an hour the previous day poking into Bee’s unwelcome insight into his feelings regarding Aziraphale.[14] Then, he'd managed to get into a completely unnecessary argument about a job at thee bookshop. Aziraphale was going to worry about Crowley's presence at anything he did that was even remotely family related. He'd physically jumped when Gabriel called his phone during a trip to St James's.[15] It wasn't as though Crowley even needed Aziraphale to tell him the timings, he was just trying to make conversation. Stupid really, didn't even know why he brought it up. Crowley had wanted to suggest they head out somewhere that wasn't the park or whatever eatery Aziraphale fancied. He'd been nervous, his mouth rattling along without consulting his brain.

It wasn't even Crowley's situation that would be this issue. Aziraphale was Aziraphale, and Crowley was spending his evening regretting the choice to not wear a belt for his current excellent impression of an idiot pretending to be random petty criminal scoping out the expensive cars parked nearby.[16] Aziraphale's idea of just stealing the thing was sounding more attractive by the minute as a puddle formed near Crowley's feet. Except, it had to look like he wanted the files rather than the laptop. Which meant leaving clear signs the laptop had been accessed. With intent too. Any idiot could have stolen it. That wouldn’t mean they were after the files. At least it wouldn’t be raining inside the car.[17] He'd got the keys a few days before, swiped by the friendly receptionist who was very sorry to hear about their bosses car problems and agreed there was no reason to interrupt his meeting just to give the keys to the mechanic. It helped that there was an issue with the car.[18] So, keys in pocket Crowley asked a few people where the parking for the event was and meandered over there. He even kicked a bottle against a wall to draw more attention.[19] The loud ring his phone let out was probably overkill.

At half ten, Crowley finished removing all the passwords stored by the web browsers.[20] He had been planning to just leave it at changing the desktop background and reversing the mouse buttons but the files were taking longer to copy than he expected. Probably shouldn’t have expected an idiot who leaves his laptop in his car to have a decent hard drive. He had been planning to copy the entire hard drive, but he would be pressed for time to take all the files he needed, let alone the several hundred gigabytes of what could charitably be described as mediocre porn. He might have time to shift all the calendar reminders for the next week to be thirty minutes later if the hard drive cooperated. The last hour had been boring, quiet.

Aziraphale couldn’t expect Crowley to never need to attend an event Aziraphale himself had been dragged to. Sure, most of his work was hanging around office buildings to get access to the right file or, more often, the right pissed off employee who would be absolutely fine with causing trouble. But he needed to network, find clients, hear the gossip. Actually, attending the ridiculous parties every few months was how he found work. Aziraphale was just there out of family obligation, and that wasn’t going to change. Maybe he likes the man. Not a crime despite Bee’s comments. It’s not like Crowley is stupid enough to let anything happen.

Crowley slumped further into the seat; the heating function required the engine to be on, but they were comfortable either way. Hardly likely it was even worth considering, given Aziraphale would probably be horrified by the whole idea. Crowley was being ridiculous. And hadn’t staggered home far too drunk and doodled a duck with a bowtie the previous week.[21]

He toyed with his phone, there was only so much entertainment that could be gained from watching the estimated finish time for copying files meander from a few seconds to beyond the laptop’s life expectancy. It was a miracle the laptop battery hadn’t given up already. He should have taken Aziraphale’s accidental advice and just stolen the thing. That reaction had flagged up yet another item for the growing list of details Crowley probably needed to mention. Not that he was planning to mention it. Things were good, mostly. Bringing up the finer details on what Crowley was actually paid to do, and how he did those things, would definitely not be well received. Tracey had suggested looking into a more physical outlet for his clear masochist tendencies.[22]

Crowley’s leg vibrated. Or rather, his phone vibrated in his pocket resulting in a wrestling match against his jeans to retrieve it.

_Things have wrapped up a bit early. Aziraphale._ Crowley took a second to be frustrated that Aziraphale still insisted on signing texts. Then he unplugged his pen drive from the laptop and flipped the thing over. Praising whoever decided people needed quick access panels for hard drive access he took the thing out and snapped it in half[23] letting it drop to the floor. Not as elegant as he was hoping for, but a swifter death than the thing deserved. Another buzz.

_You might want to absquatulate, my dear. Aziraphale._ Crowley didn’t pause to work out the definition. That was where people in movies fucked up. They would mishear something, or not understand a phrase, and then they stay where they were for ages just to clarify it, rather than just getting the fuck out. There was no way he was going to sit around waiting to check if absqu-whatever was Aziraphale for ‘hurry’. He had sent a second text; unless it was a new kind of wine Crowley was supposed to pick up, something was wrong. He could worry about the fact that Aziraphale had messaged him at all once he was clear of the car and tragically broken hard drive. His interpretation of the text wouldn’t matter if he were still sat in the car when the owner showed up. At least no one was going to spend much time looking for anyone suspicious while it was pissing it down.

“Angel, we need to talk about this.” Aziraphale had very clearly been pacing when Crowley arrived back at the bookshop. He had almost seen the relief pour out of him before Aziraphale remembered he wasn’t supposed to have been helping.

“I don’t see why we would. I merely let you know that I was available for drinks earlier than we had arranged.” Crowley silently approved of the near plausibility Aziraphale had managed with that lie. Crowley was in fact, holding the wine they had theoretically agreed they would be drinking.

“I’m not saying you need to help, prefer if you didn’t really.” Aziraphale wasn’t meeting his eyes as he passed the wine. Crowley sat down, no reason for him to make this more awkward than it needed to be. Just a quick conversation to clarify what in Satan’s name Aziraphale had been thinking and then business as usual. Or drinking as usual anyway. “I just need to know if,” Crowley trailed off, he was passed a corkscrew as Aziraphale shuffled books behind him. “I don’t want you to do anything you’re not comfortable with. We need to talk about it because if you are going to do that again, I need to know.”

“I can’t agree to that if I don’t know what I’m doing my dear.”

“That’s what I mean. I can’t tell you about work stuff.”

“And therefore, I can’t help you.” Crowley filled the glasses too full. Aziraphale wasn’t even sat down. He would probably still object to Crowley not pouring his wine.

“Fine. That’s fine. Great. But you can’t say that and then help when I don’t think you’re going to.”

“I hardly think two messages caused you that many problems.”

“I’m not worried about me! Well I am, but.”

“It’s hardly likely your old employer is going to demand to check your phone and then dig out a contract from however long ago.”

“No, they’ll just access it without telling me and then I’ll end up dead. If I’m lucky.” Aziraphale, _thank Satan_ , actually stopped sorting the books to look at Crowley. Not that the look he received was any more comforting.

“You’re serious.”

“Basically.” Aziraphale sat. He was clearly weighing something up, probably how much of Crowley’s bullshit he was willing to put up with. Crowley had known there was a possibility he would have to explain everything. He had just hoped it would have been a long way off.[24] Or earlier. It would have hurt less if he hadn’t spent so long getting attached. Aziraphale gave a sigh before reaching for his wine. He wasn’t even looking at Crowley.

“Well, in that case, I think it’s about time you tell me what exactly you were involved with before whatever it is that you do now.”

“I made some decisions when I was younger, not bad ones. Not really. Move in with friends my family don’t know to get away. Change my name so they can’t find me. Except then you’re stuck unless you can get paperwork.”

“I can see how that might be an issue if you aren’t doing things through the ah, proper channels.” Crowley rolled his eyes.

“They wanted my actual name, and my address. I didn’t want to be found, if there was a record of the change there would be a trail. So no, I didn’t use proper channels.” He had tried, until he saw the form. “My friend knew someone. I could help them with something, and they would sort out everything I needed.”

“That sounds suspicious.”

“Well yeah. Had a choice though, wasn’t even anything illegal. And we were all friends. You trust your friends.”

“I have no doubt you had your reasons.”

“Whatever. Things got worse. Nothing was ever free? I mean I didn’t really pay for much at the time, not like stuff. Just favours. Everything was a favour. End up owing people I barely knew. Barely knew what for most of the time. Can’t really walk away from that.”

“You were trapped?”

“I guess? I mean I could have left, wouldn’t have ended well but it was an option.”

“They would have hurt you?” Crowley risked a look at Aziraphale, he seemed more upset than Crowley was.

“It was fine. I mean yeah, got the shit kicked out of me a few times when I did something stupid. My own fault though, got myself into it.”

“You poor dear,”

“No. No, we’re not doing that shit.”

“Crowley,” Aziraphale looked almost apologetic, reassuring. Like Crowley was some stray kitten that had tripped over his own paws into a puddle. It was awful.

“No, we aren’t having a weird bonding session over how stupid I was.”

“That’s not,”

“More wine? Through here, yeah?” Crowley was moving before Aziraphale had time to respond.

Half a bottle later, Aziraphale had agreed to never refer to Crowley as a _poor dear_ ever again. Crowley was not confident that agreement would hold.

“I take it Bee was involved in all this?” Crowley wished Aziraphale hadn’t remembered the name. Names weren’t vague, they gave people something to hang their questions on. Names led to details, future conversations.

“Yeah, they introduced me to a few people.” It didn’t exactly cover it but Aziraphale didn’t need to know all the details, no one died. “The people they introduced me to, they loved me.”

“Oh, I didn’t realise you were involved.”

“No! Not like that. I mean yeah, there was,” Crowley stopped himself. Some things Aziraphale did not need to know. “I meant I was really good at what I did. I pissed them off not getting involved in some of the other stuff, but if they needed into a building or whatever, I was fantastic at that.”

“But you were, involved _._ ”

“People didn’t do _involved_. It was all leverage, control. Just something else to hang over you.”

“Oh, you,” Crowley glared and watched the _poor_ disappear from Aziraphale’s mouth. “That sounds lonely.”

“I had people. Busy social life, trying to work out which party is most likely to end up with police being called. Working out who to avoid, all very social.”

“I told them I was leaving. They took it badly. There were, arguments.” The details Crowley was accidentally betraying in the careful word choices were heart-wrenching for Aziraphale. Crowley couldn’t even look at him, staring at his glass instead. Crowley reached up, not for his sunglasses those sat on the table. Instead he rubbed by his ear, smudging the makeup that had been covering his tattoo. Distorted smears of red and black snake showed through.

“You were too good.”

“I wasn’t _good_ , I. Oh, you meant at what I did.” Aziraphale refilled Crowley’s wine. He wasn’t sure on the ethics of making sure Crowley didn’t run out of wine and use it as an excuse to leave. It was questionable at best that he hadn’t checked if Crowley even wanted more wine. Aziraphale drank some more himself, it helped.[25]

“I had access to everything, so I just made copies. Took a few years but I got enough that if I handed it in then they would be in a world of shit.”

“Years?” Crowley gave a shrug in response.

“Point is, I know where all the bodies are buried. Figuratively! Sorry bad phrasing. Although I could take a guess at,” Aziraphale didn’t know what to do. He had assumed that Crowley was involved in some unpleasant business in his past, that was obvious somewhere between him maybe stealing a laptop and breaking into a car to access another. He just hadn’t quite counted on Crowley being involved in that level of violence. Or surrounded by people that were. 

“It’s set up so if anything happens to me, interested parties get all the information they need to make his, _their,_ all of them, their lives difficult.” Aziraphale tried not to react to the obvious slip. Not that he needed it confirming from Crowley’s reaction earlier. Crowley’s explanation rattled on, clearly hoping Aziraphale wasn’t going to comment on what he had said. His eyes darted nervously, no longer hidden beneath his dark lenses. Was Crowley always so anxious below them? Aziraphale would have been able to tell that, surely. There were a few instances when Crowley hadn’t seemed quite sure of himself, but Aziraphale struggled to find more than a handful. It couldn’t all be an act, they were friends. He would know. Except he clearly didn’t.

“Basically, I can do what I want, as long as it isn’t something that fucks with their interests.”

“Which somehow includes my family’s business.”

“Yup, no idea why, probably some friend has money invested or whatever. S’why Bee came round. Letting me know I was on fucking thin ice.”

“Oh.”

“I cleared that up, but they’re watching. Need to cover it up if you’re texting me about work stuff.”

“I see.”

“S’not that bad. I still get to do my thing. Break into places, sneak around the security.”

“So you just go around stealing things?”

“Mostly. I do the other stuff too. Point out how to not get something stolen. It’s all designs and records these days.” Aziraphale was outraged. Well not really, but he should have been. Or at least shocked. He settled for pretending that wasn’t so very obvious.

“The thing is my dear, you didn't mention your occupation is quite so illegal."

“Oh. My job involves a lot of illegal stuff.”

“Right.”  
“Look Angel, I know it’s a lot. I just,” Crowley exhaled. “Should I go?” Crowley finally managed to meet Aziraphale’s gaze. He looked utterly miserable, waiting for Aziraphale to kick him out. Tell Crowley he wasn’t good enough. That he couldn’t expect Aziraphale to accept him, knowing what Crowley had done. No. What Crowley had _been through_. There was absolutely no chance of Crowley accepting a hug, Aziraphale settled for the closest he could manage.

“Absolutely not. I am going to go get us another bottle of wine and then you can listen to how awful the speeches were this evening. You might as well stay the night, you’re in no state to drive and I wasn’t planning on opening tomorrow anyway.”

* * *

[1] See the aforementioned lack of time machines.

[2] Or forge one of them if that would be faster.

[3] The minutes of uncoordinated wriggling and tugging of material was not a spectator sport.

[4] Earlier attempts at verticality had not been repeated.

[5] His face had yet to agree to these terms; if anything, it seemed spurned on by Aziraphale’s own flushed cheeks.

[6] It was in fact, a badly scrawled \\.

[7] Not instant. Not decaf. Not Starbucks.

[8] Aziraphale took book acquisition very seriously..

[9] Over the years he had perfected the art of a defensive ramble. It was a matter of weighing the other person’s patience against his lack of desire to give an answer.

[10] It moved up the more of it Crowley drank.

[11] Preferably via Crowley himself.*

*The giant quarantine tent that was being erected around that detail was doing nothing to hide its presence.

[12] Even equipped with a snorkel.

[13] Crowley may have already decided on several of the banners he would have made for the occasion.

[14] Insights that are accurate are often unwelcome.

[15] This had resulted in some duck-mob issues as they rushed forward for the dropped food.

[16] For a start. The lack of a coat was moving up the list of things Crowley regretted by the minute.

[17] Sadly, due to changeable weather and an optimistically open sunroof, this assumption would prove to be incorrect.

[18] Courtesy of Crowley’s activities from the previous night. Mechanical skills can be applied in all sorts of direction.

[19] Crowley had not placed the bottle himself, but improvising was half the fun.

[20] After saving them all for future use.

[21] He had in fact doodled a terrible attempt duck in a bow tie. That had been scribbled over with a somehow even worse owl with a bow tie next to it.

[22] And really, what else would explain spending that much time around Aziraphale knowing nothing could ever happen?

[23] Crowley had enjoyed the advances in laptops. Hard drives had become lighter, faster, and far more breakable.

[24] Never would have been perfect.

[25] Regardless of how the situation was judged, Aziraphale felt it would be infinitely worse if he wasn’t partaking himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Something something apologies for my complete inability to update regularly. I'm planning to do some minor editing of previous chapters in the next few days. Nothing is going to change plot-wise, more changes to phrasing. Plus fixing a few typos which I only spotted while procrastinating writing this chapter by reading back over the earlier ones.
> 
> I'd promise more regular updates but I think we all know that would be a) lying, and b) I don't have a second point.


	7. Balloons

Aziraphale did not go and talk to Crowley. He had _meant_ to talk to Crowley. He’d even used the stairs up to Crowley’s room, to give him time to think. His vantage point had given him a clear view of Crowley’s door closing in Newton’s face. Crowley was very clearly not going to be in the mood to hear Aziraphale awkward, already forgotten speech. His plan to slip into his own room and work up the courage to try again had been similarly derailed as his phone gave a shrill ring. It had been a hard landing to the base of Anathema’s floor. He’d almost thrown himself down the stairs before managing to silence the damn thing. Pathetic, didn’t even know why he had run. If Crowley had heard his phone and came out to talk to him, surely that would have been a good thing.

Anathema hadn’t even questioned why Aziraphale was at her room rather than Crowley’s. She had let him follow her in and then pulled out a tarot deck, because if nothing else he was a captive audience. That might have been her plan, convincing him that talking with Crowley was a better option than staying for every reading, summoning and other occult delight she had brough with her.[1]

His phone rang as Anathema reshuffled her deck for the fourth time. _Gabriel_. It had probably been his brother earlier too. There weren’t many people who had his number, fewer that would actually use it. He should have answered it. Or declined. Letting it ring out to put off hearing about an inverted Tower card yet again was rude.

“You could send him a message?”

“What? Another sexing vegetable?” Anathema rolled her eyes. The deck was dropped back into a velvet pouch, hopefully signalling a reprieve from yet another reading. There were still the scrying crystals she had pulled out, “ _in case”_.

“No. I meant you could explain your feelings.”

“It’s not the sort of thing one texts.” Aziraphale wasn’t sure about that, he knew it wasn’t something he wanted to do. Phone messages always seemed more impersonal, distant.

“At least tell him you want to talk.”

“What if he doesn’t want to? I won’t even know if he had read it.”

“Aziraphale. You need to talk to him.”

“I know that. I just need more time.”

“Well you’ve got it. Looks like he’s heading out.”

Aziraphale scrambled to the window. Sure enough, a figure with red hair was climbing into a taxi.

“Any idea where’s he’s going?” Aziraphale shook his head, then remembered Crowley’s comments. One extra day until the office opened was apparently too long to expect Crowley to put up with being married to him. He wanted to tell himself that it wasn’t just that it was him. Except Crowley could was clearly capable of patience.[2] Crowley grew plants; crossbreeding, taking cutting, and other plant-based activities. That wasn’t a hobby known for the instant gratification. Which meant Aziraphale was the unbearable part of the situation. 

His phone rang again, pulling his attention long enough that he lost sight of the taxi. Or rather, lost it in the sea of other similar cars. London barely had a rush hour; the traffic was always present. It seemed the same was true here, there was no chance of finding it even in the standing traffic. Anathema interrupted his musings and handed him the phone clearly expecting him to answer it. Gabriel again. He took a breath before answering.

“Hello,”

“You didn’t answer your phone.” Direct as always.

“No, I was busy.”

“What, a book take you by surprise?”

“What do you want, Gabriel?” It was always Gabriel. Living up to his name, messenger, at least within the family.

“There’s a conference tomorrow. You’re going to need to go.” Aziraphale glanced to the clock, it was late back in London. Far too late to be making arrangements for the next day. Too late to be calling for anything other than an emergency.

“I’m afraid that won’t be possible.”

“Don’t be difficult Zira.”

“I’m not, I am unavailable Monday.”

“Aziraphale, this is a _family_ business. We can’t afford for you to slack off.” Aziraphale wasn’t sure what his expression he had shown, but Anathema placed a glass of wine next to him.

“It’s not my business. I have,”

“The bookshop, yes. And we’re all very impressed that you are being independent and whatever. But we need you to step up.”

“I have no interest in stepping up, tomorrow or any other day.”

“Look, Aziraphale.” Aziraphale broke in before Gabriel could find yet another way to tell him how much of a disappointment he was.

“No. It’s a family business when you need me to do something. The rest of the time, I’m a handy dogsbody to parade around at meetings no one else wants to go to.”

“We’re working hard here so you can swan around in your stupid shop. All we want is for you to do your job.” _Independent._ Gabriel was the one to say it. And it was true now, there was nothing to tie him to Heavenly Solutions. And his family thought he would still do what they demanded. Years of pandering, and they still expected him to jump straight back in. Except Aziraphale didn’t want to, and there was nothing to make him do so. Aziraphale smiled at the realisation.

“No. You want me to do your job, for your business that I have no interest in.”

“Aziraphale.”

“Besides, I can’t. I’m on holiday.”

“Holiday? Since when do you go on,” Aziraphale cut off his brother. It was a giddy feeling, refusing yet another last-minute demand. If the confusion in Gabriel’s tone wasn’t so amusing, the expectation would have been infuriating.

“Whenever I want. I don’t need to run my life by you.” There was a heavy sigh through the phone. Aziraphale could almost picture the expression; he’d seen it often enough.

“Aziraphale, I am trying very hard to be patient here.”

“As a matter of fact, it’s my honeymoon. I got married and I am unavailable for all future engagements. Don’t call back.”

Aziraphale’s wine glass made it halfway to his mouth before the reality of what he had said hit. A good amount spilt as he dropped back into his chair.

“You might want to talk to Crowley about this being your honeymoon.” Anathema sipped at her own wine, clearly amused that Aziraphale had made such a blunder. The wry smile did not make Aziraphale feel better. He felt sick.

“So you’ve been saying.” He’d need to move. Leave London. It would take a lot, shipping the books alone would be a nightmare. But he couldn’t go back to London. Couldn’t face Gabriel,[3] couldn’t explain that his wedding was a drunken mistake. That the honeymoon had revolved around avoiding Crowley. He could probably organise it from here, but then other people wouldn’t pack the books properly. He could stay somewhere else in London. Or find a new place and move the books one bag at a time.[4]

“Aziraphale, talk to him. What’s the worst that could happen?” Anathema’s words cut through the emergency relocation plans. Aziraphale frown at the thought. The worst would be Crowley reacting with some mix of amusement and disgust that Aziraphale had even contemplated being with Crowley. Or Crowley going along with what Aziraphale wanted out of some misguided attempt to avoid hurting Aziraphale’s feelings. Although that seemed less likely, far more likely Crowley would disappear again and avoid the situation entirely.

“It’s,” Aziraphale relocated his wine and sipped at it. “It’s difficult. What if I don’t say the right thing? Or he doesn’t feel the same?”

“Then you can come back here, drink my wine, and worry about it some more.”

“Fine, I don’t suppose you have some paper? I think this will require some planning.”

* * *

The food was good. Aziraphale tried to focus on that rather than anything else about the situation. The restaurant wouldn’t have been his first choice, but then Gabriel had organised everything.[5] _As usual_. Michael had made her excuses, not directly, she had been too busy for that.[6] Which left Aziraphale trying to enjoy a particularly excellent beef wellington while Gabriel and Uriel debated the company’s yearly retreat destination. Aziraphale wasn’t invited along, he never had been. Sandalphon would side with Gabriel. Then Uriel, without Michael to back her up, would complain and storm off. All of which would wrap the whole evening up in under three hours.

Two years ago, Aziraphale had suggested a few places, he had hoped to speed up the argument. It hadn’t worked.[7] Apparently, the golf courses and hotels on semi-remote Scottish islands were the worst possible place to do team building exercises and hold seminars. Since then, Aziraphale had been happy to let the argument run its course. There was a possibility he pointed out problems with both options to make sure they didn’t agree. He was looking forward to the cheesecake waiting back at the bookshop. He’d picked it up to enjoy as a sort of private celebration.[8] Aziraphale reached for one of the small bread rolls in the centre of the table. It was almost back at his plate before he noticed Gabriel’s raised eyebrows. The question was silent but Aziraphale didn’t need to hear it to feel the familiar wave of shame. No one else had grabbed a second. Aziraphale placed it on his plate and then refilled his wine.

“Don’t know why you bothered taking it if you’re not going to eat it.” Sandalphon’s words cut over the debate over whether a swimming pool was necessary at a company retreat. Gabriel and Uriel stopped to look across to Aziraphale.

“Yes, well. I changed my mind.”

“As long as you don’t change it back.” Aziraphale set down his cutlery, appetite gone entirely.

_What would Crowley do?_ Crowley would leave, [9] and look good doing it. All hips and, _well._ He’d done so in the past. Aziraphale once made the mistake of asking Crowley if he was familiar with Grindr as he had arrived at the bookshop, [10] and Crowley had immediately pivoted and walked straight back out. He had returned an hour later with a box of eclairs, which was as close to an apology as Crowley seemed to believe in. He had seemed extremely uncomfortable while Aziraphale ate them; even after a choked-out denial that he wanted one. Aziraphale hadn’t worked out the reason for that yet, Crowley had repeated several times that he was _absolutely fine_ each instance getting less believable.[11]

The whole situation had been odd. Crowley didn’t refuse to talk about most things. Aside from the eclairs, it was only questions about his work and his past that seemed remotely off limit. More particularly, his past relationships. Even the small amount Crowley had mentioned were slips, the wine making him rattle through the story, details escaping faster than he could stop them. Aziraphale suspected Crowley would tell him, if Aziraphale asked him directly. Aziraphale had no intention of doing so. He wouldn’t deny being curious. If nothing else, Crowley inspired questions. But Aziraphale wasn’t going to force Crowley to relive whatever demons he wanted to keep hidden. He was uncomfortable enough talking about the things he felt Aziraphale needed to know.

It was different with family though. He couldn’t just leave because they were being unkind. It wasn’t as though they realized. He was probably just being oversensitive as usual. He should have been sharing more anyway. Contributing to the conversation rather than being so absorbed in his food. He wouldn’t have taken the extra roll if he had been paying more attention. Best to just smile and change the subject. There was no need to make things awkward.

“Did you end up changing the seating in the conference rooms?” Uriel glanced from Aziraphale to Gabriel who gave a blank look. She looked bored as she turned back to him.

“No.”

“Oh, you mentioned it a few weeks back.”

“Yes.” The monosyllabic response was immediately followed by Uriel returning to her discussion with Gabriel. Aziraphale moved his wine glass closer. 

“How about Scotland? Orkney maybe? The smaller ones have golf courses.”

“I have no objections.” Aziraphale struggled to swallow the mouthful of wine. _Orkney_. Just as he had suggested. And not entirely lived down that mistake. A frequently retold tale of how foolish he was. At least that would need to change if they did go there. Probably. Perhaps something had changed, something that made it more suitable now Aziraphale wasn’t the one suggesting it.

“Alright there, Sunshine?”

“Hmm? Oh, no. I, I’m afraid I feel a bit ill.” Aziraphale wasn’t lying. He felt airy, almost separate from himself. His throat was tight, a weight pulling down. The air had an odd ringing noise, almost a tintinnabulation. He hadn’t felt ill when he arrived, possibly it was just too warm in the restaurant, nothing to worry about. “You’ll have to excuse me. I think I need to head home.”

“Hey, whatever works for you. Nice to see you.” Aziraphale felt his mouth smile, he wasn’t sure if he had meant to do that. Gabriel seemed entirely unconcerned as he signaled for a new bottle of wine for the table. Probably best, he didn’t want to cause too much fuss.

Getting back to the bookshop was a blur. He’d walked, which was probably for the best as Aziraphale wasn’t sure he could work out the bus route. Soho wasn’t far anyway; nothing was in central London. Until the weather turned and the entire city ground to a halt as the first flake of snow touched the roads. The summer evening meant it was mostly still light, although that was changing as he neared the shop. The feeling something was _off_ wasn’t fading, Aziraphale wasn’t feeling quite himself. It was possible he was actually ill; that would be convenient. He could close for the rest of the week, mention it to his family next time he saw them. Avoid them thinking he had been making up excuses. Not to mention the valuable reading time it would give him.[12] He could get inside, have a nice cup of tea with a generous splash of something alcoholic, and wait to feel less odd. If that didn’t work, there was always wine. Key, he always had too many keys. The fuzziness in his head wasn’t helping. He had managed to get the correct key into the lock before he realized the lights inside the bookshop were on.

Aziraphale opened the door slowly, he even reached up to silence the bell that would alert anyone inside he had arrived. In the back room a record was playing, too quiet to identify but he doubted any burglar would bring their own orchestral vinyl. The cheek of it! Somebody had broken in and then taken the time to peruse his collection for backing music to their theft. At least it would have covered the noise Aziraphale made as he moved through the shop. None of the books seemed to be disturbed, but of course he kept a good number of the rarer volumes in the living areas. He tiptoed around a bookcase; he could hear steps now. There was somebody inside the shop. He was woefully ill prepared to deal with an intruder. People in television shows usually found a stick or similar in such situations. Aziraphale looked around, he had no such weapon. There were more than a few books that would be heavy enough, although the risk of damage ruled those out. However, the pile of new hardcover book he had stocked were on a display near his desk.[13] Not as heavy, but infinitely more replaceable. He could take two, one for each hand. Surprise was key, probably. The door wasn’t closed fully, he could charge through, not give the intruder time to think. He crept closer and took a breath.

“Put the books down!”

A very startled Crowley jumped. This was accompanied by the bang of an equally startled balloon.

“Fuck, Angel! Are you trying to kill me?” Aziraphale took in the scene. Balloons, dozens of them. Some had been grouped into bunches presumably to attach somewhere. Crowley, clearly still on edge, shoving exploded remnants of balloon in his pocket. Hiding evidence of the pop. There were a few suspiciously book shaped parcels wrapped up on his chair.

“Crowley?”

“Didn’t think you’d be back so early. The waiter was supposed to text me when your table left.”

“They’re still there. I, why are you here?” Crowley gave a shrug as he cleared some of the balloons to the edges of the room. Aziraphale didn’t point out they were bouncing back into the pathway Crowley was attempting to create the second he turned his back.

“Just thought, it’s your birthday. Thought would be fun to just, y’know.”

“Yes, but how did you get in?” The evasive tidying stopped. Crowley was silent for a few seconds before giving another shrug.

“You forgot to lock the door. Saw it as I walked past. I was going to come round later, once I knew you’d be home. Couldn’t just leave the shop unlocked.”

“And you just happened to have all this with you?”

“Yep.” Aziraphale looked at Crowley. He was lying. Aziraphale knew he was lying, and Crowley knew that he knew. There was a moment Aziraphale thought of calling him on it, but now the sense of danger had passed he felt exhausted. He didn’t want to argue that Crowley had very clearly broken into the shop. He just wanted to sit down and feel normal.

“You okay, Angel?” Aziraphale glanced up to Crowley. At some point Aziraphale had sat on the sofa; he didn’t quite remember how he dodged the balloons to do so.

“Hmm?”

“You just seem a bit, not okay.”  
“I don’t know.” Crowley gave him a worried look, efforts to liberate more space from the balloons put on hold.[14]

“Okay. Wine or tea?” 

“Tea, I think. Then wine.” Crowley nodded and disappeared into the small kitchen. There was a party hat still flat on top of a mostly empty packet of balloons. Crowley had even brought a box of candles.

The clink of glass bottles came from the kitchen a few moments before Crowley did.

“Did you put alcohol in my tea?” Crowley paused, cup in hand.

“Possibly.”

“Excellent.” Crowley set down the tea, it was far too full for the cup. Clearly the alcohol had been added as an afterthought with no space left for it.[15] Crowley’s own mug was less precariously full. Mostly because Crowley had forgone the tea altogether and instead, had helped himself to Aziraphale’s wine.

“What were the books for?” Crowley looked over the discarded pair that Aziraphale had armed himself with as he dropped into his usual spot.

“Oh, well I thought you were an intruder. I don’t really have anything else.”

“So what? You were going to brain me with Tempocalypse?” Aziraphale glanced over the books cover, even the title was terrible.

“With hindsight, it wasn’t my best plan.”

Crowley was struggling. Aziraphale was very clearly, not okay. Or hadn’t been when he arrived. Since then one leg had taken to bouncing as a competitive sport. The anxiety put some of Crowley’s bad days to shame. Alcohol was probably not the best thing to add to the mix. Well, not in the long term. In the short term, Aziraphale seemed to be enjoying himself. Something had obviously happened while he was out with his _delightful_ family. Probably related to why he left early. Crowley was not the person to talk fucked up families with, he could provide alcohol. Alcohol was medicinal, or self-medicating, whatever. Aziraphale deserved a not-shit birthday. Crowley had already messed up with the surprise birthday décor, Aziraphale had thought there was somebody in the shop. Besides Crowley. Not that he should have been there either. Completely awful idea, surprising his friend by breaking into his shop. Well done Crowley, messing up as usual. A good friend would probably ask what had happened. They’d see if there was something that would help. But Aziraphale was stuck with Crowley. So instead, there was far more wine and far less important discussion.

That wasn’t the entirety of the issue Crowley was struggling with. Crowley had been using Aziraphale’s chair as a holding pen for the balloons. Fuck, he regretted the balloons. The repurposing of said chair, had left the seating options more limited than usual. Which is to say, Aziraphale was sat next to Crowley. Very next to.

It was a small sofa.

It had barely been two hours since Aziraphale had made it back to the bookshop and so far there had been three accidental knee bumps, two awkward shuffles after accidentally leaning against each other, and four, _four_ incidents requiring emergency evasive maneuvers to avoid accidental mouth contact. Crowley had only just managed to dodge Aziraphale’s knee when he reached for his drink a few minutes earlier. Crowley was reconsidering just sitting on the floor. Except he wasn’t because he was awful, and Aziraphale was warm. Friends sat next to each other all the time. It wasn’t a big deal. Crowley needed more wine.

“They’re going to go to Scotland.” Crowley carefully put his mug down on the floor. They were talking about why Aziraphale was upset. Okay, Crowley could do that.

“It’s not that great.[16] Bagpipes. I mean, yeah there’s whiskey, kilts, and sheep. Sheeps? Sheep.” Crowley wasn’t sure when he had applied for a position on the Scottish Tourism Board. He hoped to turn around his performance fast enough to be fired before he finished the sentence at least. He wasn’t supposed to be making Scotland sound good. “But the bagpipes. And the cold. It will be awful. Why are they going?”

“For the company retreat.” He turned to face Aziraphale. Feet on the sofa but it would hardly be the first time. It gave Crowley space though. Helped reign in errant thoughts about hugging, and other things that he was absolutely not going to do.

“You didn’t want it to be Scotland?” Aziraphale’s eyes began to look watery. Crowley was not prepared for this at all.

“No, I just,” Aziraphale swallowed. “I suggested it a few years ago. They said it was a shit idea. But now,” Aziraphale didn’t finish. Crowley didn’t need him to.

“Now they decided it was a great idea.” Aziraphale nodded silently. Crowley dug his hands into his thighs before they developed a mind of their own. It was fine. He could do this. Comfort his friend about shit family, nothing new. Not difficult. A totally normal thing to do. Basic friendship skills. Fair chance Aziraphale wouldn’t remember it anyway; he was drunk enough to start swearing.[17]

“Fuck ‘em. It didn’t matter what you suggested Angel. They wouldn’t have listened. They don’t want to admit you have good ideas.”

“They’re family.”

“Then they should act like it. You don’t treat people you love like that.”

“It’s hard for them, putting up with me. I’m sure it wasn’t intentional.”

“You’re not hard to put up with. You’re kind, and funny, and smart, and mmh!”

The sound Crowley made as Aziraphale pulled him into a kiss was almost certainly more out of surprise to suddenly have a lap full of Aziraphale than actual enthusiasm for the situation. He froze for a second lips unmoving against Aziraphale’s own before he made another noise that sounded suspiciously like a swear word and pulled away. Crowley wriggled out from under Aziraphale, hands reaching to stop any attempts to keep hold of him.

“No, no that is a terrible idea.” Aziraphale’s stomach dropped, of course it was a terrible idea, he didn’t know how he could have thought otherwise. Tears welled faster than he could blink them back as his shame grew. A terrible end to another terrible birthday. Crowley wouldn’t want anything to do with Aziraphale, especially when he wasn’t a blubbering mess.

“I’m sorry. I am so sorry. I didn’t,” he couldn’t get the words out. Crowley hadn’t left, Aziraphale couldn’t think why. He had just launched himself at his friend, he couldn’t even say why. Crowley was being nice, _kind_. And Aziraphale disregarded his feelings entirely.

“Hey, none of that,” Crowley pulled Aziraphale around until he was lying down head resting in Crowley’s lap. Long arms folded over him, holding him, as much as Crowley could bear to at least. It would have been nice, if Aziraphale hadn’t just utterly humiliated himself. Crowley didn’t seem angry, maybe he would forgive Aziraphale for being so stupid.

“I am sorry.”

“It’s okay. You don’t want me though, not really.”

“I do.” Crowley remained silent long enough for Aziraphale to think there wouldn’t be a response. He couldn’t blame Crowley for that.

“You’re drunk and sad. Tomorrow you’re going to have a terrible hangover. You’ll feel bad enough without me being there.”

“But I do,” Crowley’s fingers were gentle in his hair, trying to bring some order to the curls. Aziraphale had probably messed his hair up at some point too. The whole night had been a mess.

“No, you want someone who can debate books with you, and likes your ridiculous approach to customer service, and has opinions about operas, and doesn’t steal your alcohol. Angel, you want someone. I get it, wanting a distraction from all the shit happening, but it shouldn’t be me. It can’t be me. It’s not going to make you feel better tonight and you’ll regret it tomorrow.”

Aziraphale let the words wash over him bringing a tide of certainty. It was difficult to focus on through the swarming haze of alcohol, but he could grasp the essence of it. He didn’t want any of the things Crowley was sprouting off, he wanted _Crowley_. Not as a drunken fumble, Crowley mean so much more to him than that. Aziraphale had being stupid enough to develop feelings for Crowley. Worse, he hadn’t even realized how he felt.

“What about you?”

“Hmm?”

“What do you want?” Crowley tensed under him, probably an attempt to get comfortable. Aziraphale should have pulled himself up, not lay there squashing Crowley. He tried, but Crowley seemed wary of letting him go. Probably expecting Aziraphale to do something stupid and try to kiss him again.

“Don’t worry about me.”

“I should head to bed. Get some sleep.” It had only been a minute or two, Aziraphale didn’t dare push for longer.

“Probably a good idea. You okay with the stairs?”

“I’m drunk, not alabandical.” Aziraphale found his body shaking as Crowley burst out laughing under him.

“Go on, bed. I’ll be down here.” Aziraphale pushed himself off Crowley.

“I’m happy to share the bed, my dear. You don’t need to be on the sofa all night.”

“Angel, we both know that’s a bad idea.” Crowley couldn’t even look at him. He’d stood up, probably rethinking his decision to even stay on the sofa.

“I’m sorry you right. Stupid, really.”

“Hey, none of that.” Crowley hands fell just below Aziraphale shoulders. Holding him in place, keeping the distance. Aziraphale chanced a look at Crowley’s face. He wasn’t expecting the concern he found there. “You’re allowed to get drunk and sad about this stuff. I’m just trying to make sure you don’t do anything you’re going to regret, okay?” Aziraphale nodded and made his way up the stairs. At least he couldn’t make things worse once he was asleep.

Crowley hated pacing. He was good at it though. Back and forth, round and round. Dodging fucking balloons. He had fucked up. Somehow being a good friend had ended up making Aziraphale feel even worse about himself. Fan-fuckin-tastic friend. The issue was the balloons. If he hadn’t blown up far too many then Aziraphale would have sat in his normal chair. Normal distance, no problem. Add in Aziraphale very drunk. Well, quite drunk. Drunk enough, especially with all the family stuff. Vulnerable. And Crowley had been absolutely useless. Less than. He’d made it worse.

Crowley finished the bottle of wine; he might as well get the hangover he deserved in the morning. It wasn’t the balloons; it was Crowley himself. He’d slipped, Aziraphale probably just acted on what he saw. And then Aziraphale had asked Crowley what he wanted, as if that even entered into it. They were friends. Crowley was enjoying being friends. But anything more was out of the question, he knew that. And his punishment was going to be sitting through Aziraphale awkwardly explaining that he was very drunk and hadn’t intended anything of that sort. And besides, Crowley had just been there, nearby.[18] It was going to be awful. Crowley had been through enough of those conversations with people he hardly gave two shits about. Hearing it from Aziraphale was going to be infinitely worse.

* * *

[1] Quite _why_ Anathema had seemingly packed for a psychic convention was not clear.

[2] Despite all evidence provided to the contrary by his driving.

[3] Or his other siblings but they never came to the bookshop it, it would be Gabriel.

[4] Thoughts of asking Crowley to assist slipped in without warning and were quickly hidden under a metaphorical rug. A large rug that already possessed several other suspiciously red-haired lumps.

[5] The restaurant was also not Gabriel’s first choice. His secretary had made the reservation in a rare act of defiance finding somewhere she thought Aziraphale would enjoy despite the company.

[6] What precisely Michael was busy with was unclear. The meeting she and Sandalphon had been scheduled to be had been cancelled.

[7] Uriel and Gabriel had joined forces to explain how bad his suggestion was. It was his worst birthday meal for at least ten years.

[8] Whether that was for his birthday or making it through the family dinner was not yet decided.

[9] This was incorrect. Crowley wouldn’t have shown up.

[10] A customer had been complaining that the unstable internet was causing issues with it.

[11] Aziraphale had given up on it when Crowley pulled out a hip flask. How there was space for the thing in the trousers he wore also remained an unsolved mystery.

[12] Aziraphale read in the bookshop regardless of the number of customers present. He was just interrupted less while the door was locked.

[13] These books were stocked purely for people hunting for something to read while sunbathing on holiday.

[14] Balloons are very different from rabbits. The multiplication rate, however, is almost the same. Only accidental bursting of balloons from shock has kept the surface of Earth being completely covered in half deflated balls of air.

[15] There is a great deal of debate surrounding the correct order to make a cup of tea. The important note is that debates regarding curdling the milk, uneven temperatures, or even stirring don’t need to be considered if you skip the tea entirely and drink the booze straight. For those concerned with the aesthetics, just fill the teapot with gin.

[16] Except in the areas that have an acceptable sheep to person ratio. The best places in Scotland have feral sheep populations still herded the traditional way. Chasing them around the foreshore with a large, yellow JCB digger.*

*Questions remain as to whether this method would be equally effective for the renown issues involved in herding cats. Fortunately, it does work for the sheep.

[17] This inebriation scale is less accurate for Crowley. For obvious reasons.

[18] Crowley was aware Aziraphale wouldn’t want a conversation of that nature, which was why it would be worse. He’d be so very polite about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A relatively speedy update. Mostly because I had a good chunk of this written a few months ago. 
> 
> Mraowface: I hope your birthday wasn't as bad as this one.


	8. 8. Established Attributes

It was far too hot to be shifting through an air ventilation network to gain access to an office building. It was the stereotype for a reason. No one bothers to install alarms or use screws that couldn’t be opened by anybody who had access to a screwdriver. Most offices don’t have anything inside worth breaking into. Crowley hated using vents. They’re small, even if he does fit. It was never comfortable, and reversing if he took a wrong turn, because the plans didn’t include an office remodel,[1] was a nightmare. Less rats than underground, which was a positive if it wasn’t compared to the ridiculous number of spiders, dead insects, and questionable dripping fluids ventilation systems hid. Crowley hated vents. Which was why he had just used the door on the roof.[2] The alarm system was, rather miraculously, turned off.[3] Then he had faced the real obstacle, finding a single sheet of paper in what appeared to be half a rainforest scattered with no logic across half a dozen desks. He had no way to know if it was in an inbox somewhere, even in an envelope, or if it had been processed.[4] _Horror vacui_ , another one he’d found for Aziraphale, dislike of leaving a space empty. It described the bookshop rather well, or so he thought until he realised the paperwork in this office had invaded the cupboard masquerading as the office kitchen.

Three hours later, Crowley let himself out the back door. He had finally found the papers under a desk. He’d stolen that person’s favourite mug.[5] He grabbed some of the annulment forms too. Just in case part of the administrative process involved scanning documents in before dropping them on the floor for 2-4 weeks. Crowley leant against the power supply; he would need to turn it back on before leaving. Chances were good that would trigger the alarm, so it was going to have to wait until he was ready to leave. Which should have been as soon as he was out of the building. Crowley had made the mistake of reading over the certificate. Married. He had married Aziraphale. And now he had to destroy all trace of it. He hadn’t exactly moved since then, just stared at the paper like a complete idiot.

He’d ended up emailing Bee, he didn’t trust himself not to do something ridiculous and cry.[6] They had called him back almost immediately to inform him that he was an idiot. They had, slightly more helpfully, agreed to make sure nothing was mentioned if he could get everything fixed before they got back to London. Crowley didn’t ask where they were, he probably didn’t want to know, but they expected to be back on Monday night.

Aziraphale wasn’t in his room.[7] The books were still there, so he hadn’t left. His passport was also there but Crowley trusted him to return for the books more. Anathema had been no help either. Apparently Aziraphale had left her room and headed back to his own around an hour ago. Where he had gone since then was not known. Crowley turned down their offer to help him look for his wayward husband, temporary husband, accidental husband. _Whatever._ It was ridiculous. Aziraphale didn’t need to do anything except sign one piece of paper. He could feel as awkward and embarrassed about the situation as he liked after he had signed it. In the meantime, Crowley had coffee and could wait in Aziraphale’s room just as easily as his own.

* * *

The next morning[8] Aziraphale woke to find he hadn't managed to get dressed for bed. In the next instant he remembered his clumsy pass at Crowley the night before. A wave of nausea that was completely unrelated to his brain-grinding hangover passed over him. Crowley had been a good friend, had been sober enough, sane enough not to go along with Aziraphale’s desires. Unfortunately, he was also a good enough friend to not have disappeared the second Aziraphale had retired to bed. There was even a glass of water and a packet of paracetamol on his bedside table. He ignored the urge to go back to sleep as he stood up, there was every chance Crowley was still in the bookshop, which meant that Aziraphale would have to find him and apologize. Once he could summon the strength to leave his bed. The apology itself was going to be tricky too. He wasn't entirely sure what he was going to say, other than a promise he would never do anything like that again. Which niggled slightly against the realisation he had come to the night before that he had feelings for Crowley which were definitely not just alcohol induced. Still he needed to ignore that.

It took the best part of an hour to get downstairs. He felt rather silly, he hadn’t managed to get dressed beyond covering his shirt from the previous day with his dressing gown. That was hardly the most pressing worry. Crowley was sprawled over the sofa as usual, somehow looking like he hadn’t spent half the night drinking. His eyes stayed fixed to his phone as Aziraphale appeared. Well, his sunglasses stayed in place anyway, there was no way to see beneath them. Possibly Aziraphale wasn’t the only one with a hangover.

“Didn’t want to pop the balloons and wake you up.” Aziraphale hesitated at the stairs. Crowley’s gaze didn’t move. Or possibly it did, Aziraphale felt like Crowley was watching him. The endless scrolling through his phone’s display had stopped.

“Thank you, and for the paracetamol.” Crowley nodded slightly. Right. Aziraphale took a steadying breath. It didn’t help.

“I apologise for my behaviour last night. I was rather drunk, not that being inebriated is any excuse. I dare say you wouldn’t,”

“Angel, it’s fine. Yeah?” Crowley cut him off, eyebrows raised.

“I, thank you. I,”

“Aziraphale, I get it. You were drunk.”

“I,” Aziraphale hesitated. He had been drunk, but that wasn’t why he had kissed Crowley. “Yes. Thank you, for understanding.” Crowley pursed his lips, like he was debating saying something.

“Don’t mention it.” Whatever Crowley had meant to say, Aziraphale was certain it wasn’t that.

“It won’t happen again.” That hadn’t even sounded believable to Aziraphale. Crowley didn’t seem to notice though. He jammed his phone into a jeans pocket, not that it should have fit as far as Aziraphale could see.[9]

“I have to go. Work stuff.”

“Mind how you,” Crowley was out of the door before Aziraphale could even finish the sentiment. “Go.” He stared at the door for a minute. Waiting for, something. Not Crowley. Aziraphale wasn’t sure Crowley would return, despite his casual dismissal of the previous evening’s awkwardness.

The rest of the day Aziraphale spent popping errant balloons that had missed his initial hunt and thinking. He did rather a lot of that. Mostly he thought about Crowley.[10] By the time Aziraphale headed to bed he was more conflicted than he had started. Crowley hadn’t seemed particularly bothered about the situation. He’d stayed, cleared up everything except the balloons, and then waited around the bookshop for Aziraphale when he clearly had things to do. Or wanted to get away as quickly as possible, it had been hard to tell. From what he had seen of Crowley, Aziraphale tried to discount what he knew outside of that in an effort to be objective, Crowley didn’t save people’s feelings. Crowley also didn’t lie to spare someone else’s embarrassment. Aziraphale’s early assessment of the situation, that Crowley might pity him, was probably still accurate. But pity didn’t stretch to visiting that frequently, didn’t include sharing details of his past that were clearly painful to think about. There were too many moments that Aziraphale was sure couldn’t just be pity.

Aziraphale wasn’t stupid. He knew Crowley had little reason to want to be friends with him purely because he enjoyed Aziraphale’s company. He just wasn’t sure what other reason there could be. Deluding himself into thinking Crowley returned his feelings would be cruel to both of them. If nothing else, it would ultimately lead to Aziraphale doing something foolish again. Crowley did seem to enjoy spending time with Aziraphale. Although, Crowley could also seem to be geriatric nun that drank too much wine,[11] pretending to enjoy himself would hardly be a challenge.

It had been Crowley’s behaviour before he left the shop that Aziraphale was replaying over in his mind. At the time, Aziraphale had been grateful; he hadn’t wanted to discuss him kissing Crowley any more than Crowley had. But it wasn’t just not wanting to discuss it. Crowley seemed to want to pretend it never happened. Which sat diametric to his insistence that Aziraphale not sweep his family’s behaviour under the rug.[12] Yet this was apparently different. After his tea went cold, Aziraphale gave up on working out the contradiction. What he had decided was that he was being incredibly unfair to Crowley. All Crowley had ever done was reach out a hand in friendship.[13] There was no reason for Aziraphale to question that. 

*

Whatever lunacy had passed through the bookshop on Aziraphale’s birthday, it seemed to have passed a few weeks later. Crowley showed up as usual, they talked, they drank, nothing changed. Other than Aziraphale growing ever more aware that his attraction to Crowley was not as subtle as he hoped. Two café owners were clearly under the impression they were a couple, as was a rather unfortunate customer who tried to get Crowley to sell him something after Aziraphale had been ignoring him for half an hour.[14] A waiter had once placed a candle between them leaving Aziraphale frantically trying to blow it out and hide it before Crowley returned. Aziraphale wasn’t sure what they were seeing that made them leap to that assumption. He’d manage to get most of the flustered reactions to Crowley’s comments out of his system in the first few months. He probably spent longer than he could justify staring at the poor man, but by some miracle, Crowley seemed completely unaware of the entire situation. Or at least was pretending to be.

It wasn’t entirely true that nothing had changed. Crowley seemed distracted, annoyed by something. Frantic tapping on his phone had given way to bringing a laptop to the bookshop and glaring at it for hours. The third day in a row that had happened Aziraphale closed early.[15] Crowley didn’t even notice the lack of customers until Aziraphale sat down across from Crowley and slid a cup of coffee across to him. Actually, he also didn’t respond to that. Whatever Crowley was doing on his laptop, besides typing, and swearing at it, it had his full attention. He seemed on track to repeat his previous day’s schedule of staring at the screen for a few more hours before slinking off without actually conversing with Aziraphale at all. Aziraphale leant across and took the laptop out of Crowley’s grip to place it on the table. Crowley seemed surprised that Aziraphale would want his attention. Probably not a good sign.

“Crowley, I’m worried about you. What’s wrong, my dear?” The surprise was replaced by a been replaced by a conflicted look.

“It’s awkward.” Aziraphale rallied himself. Crowley wanted to talk about his birthday, he had known this was coming. He might have hoped it wasn’t, but he wasn’t lucky enough that Crowley would never mention it again. Crowley looked like he hated to even bring it up. Arms folded in front of him, guarded now he didn’t have his laptop to shield him. “It’s, erm, work stuff.”

“Oh.” Aziraphale wasn’t expecting that.

“Yeah.” Crowley glanced back to his laptop screen before closing it. “I need a favour.”

“You said you wouldn’t ask.” Crowley’s eyes were hunting around the sofa, searching for his glasses. They were on the floor, knocked off the table at some point.

“I know. I just, I didn’t think I would.”

“I see.”

“I need to have a look at your company ID.”

“No.”

“They won’t know it’s from you. I’m not going to use it. I just need to use it as a template for the encryption software.”

“No, Crowley.”

“It’s not anything to do with Heavenly bastards. This other company uses the same system and there needs to be a breach,”

“Crowley. I said no.”

“Fine.”

“That’s why you were here yesterday, to ask me. And the day before.” Crowley’s head hung; he couldn’t even bring himself to admit it. Instead he slid his laptop into its bag and stood to leave.

“I’ll be back I just need to.”

“Crowley,”

“I’ll be back in a few days.”

Aziraphale’s wine was going faster than he anticipated it would. His conversation with Crowley had worried him. Not that he had any reason to be worried. Aziraphale had refused and Crowley had accepted it. Reorganising some of the books had been a reasonable distraction for a few hours. But then he’d stopped for dinner and a drink. His brain seemed to take that as a signal to replay his argument, if it could even be called that. Crowley had been annoyed, not at Aziraphale, more at himself. Whatever reason Crowley wanted the card, Aziraphale couldn’t hand it over. The fallout from his family finding out that he was friends with Crowley would be terrible. Aziraphale couldn’t imagine how much worse it would be if he had revealed anything to do with Heavenly Solutions. Crowley wouldn’t do anything that would expose their friendship. Not intentionally. But Crowley couldn’t know it wouldn’t go wrong. He couldn’t know there wouldn’t be something traced back. Aziraphale’s company ID card would stay where it always did, in his desk drawer besides his bank statements. Crowley would have to find a different solution. It would all be fine.

*

Aziraphale scrambled to answer his phone before it stopped ringing. Gabriel, probably telling him why the taxi was late. Aziraphale had waited outside for fifteen minutes after it was due before giving up and heading back inside

“Hello?”

“It’s me. Glad I caught you before you left.”

“Yes.” Aziraphale leant to see through the window, there was still no taxi outside. “You did say you would be arranging a taxi.”

“We cancelled it. Listen, about this little meet up tonight, we’ve decided not to go. We decided you don’t need to go. I know you were looking forward to it, but hey, more time to read right?” Aziraphale had not been looking forward to it. But that wasn’t worth mentioning.

“Erm, yes I suppose. Why is it cancelled?”

“It’s not. The business hosting, Syolo, had a security breach. We use the same system for our ID cards and Uriel thought going tonight would open us up to questions about that. We can hardly send you in there to,” Aziraphale swallowed down the urge to throw up. He could barely follow what Gabriel was telling him. This couldn’t be happening. He couldn’t have been so foolish, so stupid. “The rest of us are busy so we said you couldn’t make it. We’ll need you to bring in your ID at some point, once we know how we’re going to handle the breach.”

“Oh, I see. Well I,” The phone beeped as it disconnected. Aziraphale relocked the door, leaning against it before shuffling to his chair. A security breach with the cards. _Crowley_.

*

Aziraphale’s ID card had not magically reappeared in his desk overnight. It also hadn’t shown up in his wallet, jacket pockets, several more recent book piles, or anywhere else he had checked. The methodical search he had started early that morning[16] had given way to a frantic hunt by the time the first customer knocked on the door. Aziraphale hadn’t let them in, he couldn’t properly supervise while digging through every conceivable nook and cranny in the shop. There were an awful lot of those. The back of the sofa had revealed a pair of sunglasses,[17] and an uninflated balloon. Aziraphale wasn’t certain if Crowley intended to leave sunglasses, hair ties, and other items not normally found in a bookshop[18] scattered around, or if he just didn’t care. It wasn’t as though any of the stuff wasn’t easily replaceable. None of it would compel Crowley to return.

The possibility that Crowley might not come back for them had stung earlier that morning, the force of it had taken Aziraphale by surprise. Months of comradery and Crowley was just, _lying_. Aziraphale didn’t see the point in analysing every conversation he could remember, every moment. Crowley had lied to him, Aziraphale couldn’t be sure any of it had been true. Lying was his job, Aziraphale had known that. Crowley had told him that and Aziraphale had been too caught up in, he wasn’t even sure what. Attraction, sure. But Crowley had been kind, to Aziraphale at least. Was that all part of the act? The shoulder to cry on, the tragic backstory designed to lower Aziraphale’s defences. No wonder Crowley had been horrified when Aziraphale kissed him, probably hadn’t expected it to be so easy. Aziraphale hadn’t even objected when Crowley broke into the shop because he’d managed to blow up a few balloons. Crowley hadn’t needed Aziraphale’s permission to use the card, he could have taken it at any point. Probably asked for it more out of sport than necessity. See if his efforts had paid off, if Aziraphale would hand over the card without objection.

Aziraphale swept the broken sunglasses into the bin, followed by all other evidence of Crowley’s frequent visits. He couldn’t pretend to know anything about Crowley, but he could assume Crowley would want to rub it in, show off. He’d probably try to put the card back, feign innocence. If he did bother to return. It wasn’t like there was anything at the bookshop for him. Aziraphale wasn’t stupid enough to think Crowley had ever regarded him as anything close to a friend. Just some nebbish idiot he could take advantage of. Aziraphale straightened his waistcoat before opening the shop, if Crowley showed up then Aziraphale would be ready for him.

It was late afternoon by the time Crowley slid into the bookshop. He wandered past Aziraphale and flopped onto the sofa without a care in the world. A bottle of wine was triumphantly planted on the table. Aziraphale could see it, Crowley was pleased with himself, celebrating. Aziraphale had been an utter idiot, Crowley hadn’t needed to lie, although he almost certainly did, he just swanned around wearing sinfully tight trousers and Aziraphale’s distraction was almost palpable. It couldn’t have been any simpler for Crowley, it certainly must have been obvious. The blushing and fumbling for words, probably laughing about it as soon as he was out of earshot. Aziraphale shook off his embarrassment, there wasn’t anything he could do about that. But he could drag Crowley off his sofa make it clear he didn’t appreciate being taken for a fool.

“Get up. We’re heading out.” If Crowley found Aziraphale’s tone odd he didn’t protest. Aziraphale wasn’t sure how Crowley was going to react, he didn’t want the challenge of getting him out of the bookshop if things went poorly. He fell into step silently next to Aziraphale as they headed through the streets.

“Gabriel called.”

“How delightful.”

“I didn’t have to go to the conference dinner last night.” Crowley’s grin twitched slightly, clearly amused at the whole situation.

“Great.” Aziraphale had chosen the café carefully. It had the worst pastries of anywhere within ten minutes of the shop. Avoiding it after this wouldn’t be a great loss.

“Apparently, there was a,” Aziraphale caught another twitch as he sat down. “I don’t even know why I’m pretending to believe you don’t know exactly what I’m talking about.”

“This is sounding like it’s heading towards work stuff, Angel.”

“Crowley, you stole my ID.”

“I didn’t steal your ID.” Crowley took out his phone, barely pretending to pay attention to what Aziraphale was saying.

“Then where is it?” More scrolling, Aziraphale could see the bars of colour rollup Crowley’s dark lenses. Aziraphale grabbed the phone from Crowley’s hands and placed it on the table with more force than intended.

“Oi! Why the Hell would I know? I haven’t seen it.”

“You stole it. I told you no and you took it anyway.”

“I didn’t use your card.” Crowley swiped his phone back, turning it in his hand to check for damage. Satisfied that Aziraphale hadn’t smashed it into pieces,[19] Crowley pocketed it.

The silence around the table was starting to draw attention from the staff. Aziraphale forced himself to wait it out. If nothing else, Crowley’s espresso would be too cold to stare at far before the earl grey he had ordered cooled enough to drink. His tactic worked, Crowley drained his coffee and slouched back into the chair.[20]

“I didn’t use your card.”

“Really Crowley, and how am I supposed to believe that?”

“I told you I wouldn’t.”

“Yes, because we both know you always tell the truth.” Crowley raised his eyebrows at the sarcasm, it was infuriating. “Lying is your job.”

“When have I ever lied to you?”

“You broke into the bookshop.”

“I mean, yes, _technically_. But that’s different.”

“How?” Crowley sat up, clearly uncomfortable with the direction of the conversation.[21]

“That’s, you know that’s different.”

“Is it? What else have you lied about? Or do I not get to know that? How many of our conversations were all part of this?”

“This?”

“All your plan, getting that ID. Getting me to trust you. How can you expect me to think any of it wasn’t just you sweetening whatever awful honeytrap scheme you’ve devised?”

“Scheme.” Crowley seemed lost for words. Probably didn’t expect Aziraphale to have noticed. That or he thought so highly of himself he didn’t think Aziraphale would object.

“I don’t know why I was foolish enough to think I was some kind of exception. You’ve got it all down perfectly. Find a weak link, make them trust you. I suppose I should be glad your dedication to your work didn’t stretch to anything more intimate, although I doubt that’s a universal line for you.”

“Don’t,” Crowley had turned pink, well red. It clashed with his hair terribly.

“Why?”

“Because I am telling, I’m asking you not to.” Crowley hissed the words out. The shift from pretending to be confused to anger had been faster than Aziraphale had expected. Not that he knew anything about Crowley, not really.

“You took my ID after I told you not to.”

“I didn’t take your ID.”

“Then just show up with a bottle of wine and expect that to make everything right again.” Crowley straightened his glasses and took a breath. Probably trying to sound less frustrated.

“Angel, I don’t.”

“You’re just trying to buy my forgiveness.”

“There’s nothing I need forgiveness for.”

“Oh really? How can you expect me to believe that?”

“I mean, it’s the truth.”

“You can’t even apologise can you. Just hand out gifts for putting up with you. Hope no one questions if you even paid for any of it!” Crowley swallowed, but he didn’t respond. Actually, most of the café was quiet, waiting to hear where the conversation was going. The conversation had gotten away from him a bit. Or rather, quite a lot. Aziraphale sipped at his tea as he waited for the conversations around them to start up again.

“You sound like your brother.” Crowley’s muttered response stunned Aziraphale for a second. Apparently, he had been mulling over his response because in that second Crowley leapt to his own defence. “I trust you with stuff I don’t want the whole of London to know. Stuff I don’t tell people. And then you throw it back in my face for no reason. I don’t even get to explain that I didn’t use your card, the fact that I thought about it was damning enough. Why give your friend a chance to explain themselves?”

“Friends? We’re not friends,” Aziraphale’s heart almost crawled up into his mouth to pull those words back as he saw Crowley’s face shatter. “That’s not I meant.” Except it was. Aziraphale desperately tried to change track. “Be reasonable Crowley. You can’t expect me to keep fraternizing with you after this.”

“ _Fraternizing_?”

“All this cavorting around with you.”

“I have plenty of other people to fraternize with angel. I don’t need you.” the chair scrapped nosily along the floor as Crowley stood abruptly and stormed out. He hit the fire alarm on his way. The alarm sounded for a moment before the sprinklers burst to life. Aziraphale took a moment to make sure Crowley wasn’t going to return before he left the café. He definitely couldn’t go back there.

* * *

[1] Or because he got distracted listening to Bohemian Rhapsody echo through the pipes.

[2] The door had been locked. It just hadn’t been locked particularly well.

[3] By Crowley shutting off the power five minutes before he got into the building. Waiting to see if the alarm had back up power was probably overkill.

[4] If so, Crowley would need to search the storage rooms. He could only assume they would make the office look like it had been organized by Marie Kondo.

[5] Well, hidden it. The search would hopefully encourage them to tidy up a bit. If not, at least he’d wasted some of their time.

[6] His call to Tracey had been embarrassing in that regard.

[7] Crowley had no regrets about swiping the spare key card.

[8] Morning here being defined generously. It was after all, a Sunday.

[9] While Crowley happily jumped on to whatever the latest technology for most of his electronics, a more important consideration for mobile phones was how easily he could fit them into his jeans.

[10] And having a third slice of cheesecake. The second and fourth slices took considerably less time to mull over.

[11] The only occasion that involved a less plausible outfit was the sailor’s uniform which Crowley refused to explain. To Aziraphale’s mind leaned more towards something to be removed at a certain type of establishment.

[12] Figuratively of course. Most of Crowley’s rants were from the sofa and therefore diametric to several bookcases.

[13] Or more accurately, an alcoholic beverage, but there's no need to be pedantic.

[14] Crowley had looked between the book and the customer, taken it out of his hands and placed it on a higher shelf the man couldn’t reach.

[15] Earlier than his posted closing time of four and even the more usual time of two thirty.

[16] Too early to be fully considered morning.

[17] Or the remains of them anyway.

[18] Arguably, the large collection of books not for sale was also not a common find in such a place.

[19] Although if Crowley got it out again, Aziraphale wasn’t sure it would remain in such good condition.

[20] It wasn’t made for slouching. In fact, the hard wood and upright angle had been chosen purely to make sure people didn’t overstay the ten minutes the owner felt a drink should be finished in.* This did little to stop Crowley.  
*The fact that the drinks were served at near scalding temperatures was irrelevant.

[21] And the chair. Being deterred and having regrets do not always go hand in hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so this chapter has a second part which I haven't finished yet (because I haven't). It didn't work to have both points of view together so I'm finishing up Crowley's POV to post as a separate chapter.
> 
> Also, Nadzieja did a really awesome picture of part from chapter 5 which is here:  
> https://teslatherat.tumblr.com/post/629538392043143168/ive-been-recently-reading-legally-binding-by


	9. 8a. Alternate Elements

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this one doesn't have a post wedding scene because it's essentially the missing sections from the previous chapter.

Crowley made his excuses to leave the bookshop sooner than he would have liked. As it was, he basically fucked off as soon as Aziraphale made it downstairs. Probably rude. Necessary though. He’d realised that when he woke up and contemplated how quietly he could kill a few dozen balloons. The hesitation in risking waking Aziraphale up should not have escalated to the level of the Trolley Problem.[1] Clearly at some point, Crowley had developed feelings. That wasn’t exactly a surprise, between the ducks, and the wine, and the balloons, Crowley had realised platonic didn’t quite cover his feelings for Aziraphale. But that didn’t matter. There was a line, even ignoring that Aziraphale was hardly likely to want anything beyond that, Crowley knew there was a line. Crowley’s response to Aziraphale apologising for straddling Crowley, and taking full advantage of Crowley’s shock to acquaint their tongues rather well, was not within that line.[2] Rather than sitting through Aziraphale politely putting the whole thing down to being drunk, Crowley made his escape.

With hindsight, thinking through his feelings for Aziraphale and the previous night’s events, or lack thereof, while in the shower was a bad idea. Attempts to wash off the wine and the lack of sleep had led to Crowley feeling more alert in less than ideal areas. Crowley couldn’t pretend that was exactly a new situation. Crowley liked thinking in the shower, in the last few months, some of those thoughts had been about Aziraphale. Washing involved at minimum, some touching. Physiology isn’t arsed whether it’s appropriate to redirect blood flow in response. Mostly Crowley ignored it. He wasn’t a teenager; he didn’t need to jump on every possible occasion to get off. On this occasion, there was no way he was going to be able to do anything productive until he had. Really it was a small miracle that he had made it through the previous evening without any issue. Crowley had not been prepared for the full onslaught Aziraphale’s proximity had wrought on his senses. Warm, sure people were warm, but Aziraphale seemed to radiate a cosy haze. It had all been a little overwhelming. Even Aziraphale’s mouth had tasted cosy, which was ridiculous, that wasn’t a taste.[3] So, exceptional circumstances, it wasn’t like Crowley was going to make a habit of it.

Having a wank while thinking of somebody wasn’t necessarily weird. People did that all the time, crushes, exes, that one night stand back at uni, whatever. Porn was basically there so people could wank over the people in it. Sure, friends were a bit different, but Crowley was fairly certain it wasn’t that bad. Quick wank, get it out of his system and then move on. No need to go overboard. There was definitely a difference between jacking off in the shower compared to digging around to find the exact right dildo to reimagine how things could have gone.

The next morning, Crowley dug out his silicone cleaning spray and tried to ignore thinking about just how quickly a quick wank had escalated to an all-day production. It wasn’t entirely his fault; it would have been fine if everyone’s least favourite medication side effect hadn’t made an appearance. He’d given on getting things done in the shower and got on with his day for all of an hour before he got distracted again. And again. Still, Crowley was fairly certain it was out of his system. For a while at least. A job. That’s what he needed. A distraction that wasn’t Aziraphale shaped. Something interesting that didn’t just come down to him showing up on CCTV being suspicious. Sure, that part was fun, but it didn’t really take much thinking about. He needed something difficult, preferably that didn’t require him to leave his flat and talk to people. There was always some company that trusted its security a little too much, leaving it to encryption that yeah, _should_ , be uncrackable.[4] But half the time it was part of whatever ID system had been set up. Crowley had yet to encounter a HR department that understood the concept of computer security. Sure, the documents couldn’t be opened without an access code, but no one kept track of ID cards going missing. The cards which all gave access to the files. He could check his emails, find something interesting and go from there. His hunt for an interesting distraction stopped suddenly as Crowley’s mattress began to buzz. A quick hunt under the duvet uncovered a butt plug that had been missed in his earlier tidying efforts. He took the batteries out and dropped it near the sink to clean. Crowley resumed his job search at speed. He really needed a distraction.

Two weeks later Crowley was bored, out of wine, and starting to wonder if it was worth risking putting the growing army of silicone implements into the dishwasher and accepting that some of the less waterproof ones might not survive.[5] In addition to the growing need to buy personal supplies,[6] Crowley’s distracting job had mostly just been frustrating. The companies head of HR, Linda, had retired a month earlier,[7] but they had a new graduate fixing their systems. _Jeremy,_ with his ridiculous approach to competent security, had scrapped the replacement card system so they were no longer left behind the front desk or posted out to the employee’s home if they wanted. Crowley didn’t even know anyone who worked at the company, so stealing an ID was going to take some work. Plus, while he _could_ go and meet somebody who worked there,[8] that defeated the whole not talking to people down time he was trying to achieve.

A week after that, Crowley realised he missed the ridiculously obvious step of checking which other companies were using the same system for their ID cards. It was barely a second until he wished he’d never thought of doing so.

**

Newton, or rather Newt as everyone referred to him, had a way with electronics. That way was an incredible ability to destroy them through mere proximity. Family computers, toasters, microwaves even televisions, none could resist failing shortly after he touched them. Over the years it had progressed from a running joke to observable evidence to the existence of curses. He’d been fortunate to find somewhere to live and a new job. Especially after a power surge took out all of the electronics at his previous job as he attempted to access the network.

This job he could do though. Write down the orders, bring out the orders and touch nothing electronic. He had an interview in a computing department, but if he didn’t get that he was happy to keep writing down coffee orders. It had almost been a full month, nearly a record when he stumbled and sent coffee flying over a customer's laptop. Newt’s foot had caught the power cable as he tripped. The laptop, already soaked in coffee, flew through the air before taking out a display fridge it collided with.

Crowley, after admiring just how destroyed his laptop was, listened as phrases like liability and probationary period had been waved around as the guy, Newt apparently, was 'let go'. He couldn’t even bring himself to be particularly pissed off amongst all the chaos.[9] Finally the now ex-employee scooted towards him,

“I’m so sorry, Mr Crowley. I can buy you a new one. Or rather, I will be able to, when I get a new job.”

“Don't worry about it.” Despite the coffee to blood ration Crowley was running on, it took him a second to catch up with what had been said. “Wait, how do you know me?”

“I, erm,” Crowley glared over his sunglasses. Getting recognised was something he tried to avoid at all times. Especially by someone who also knew his name. Crowley was good at remembering faces, it was the permanently uncertain expression and bad glasses that confirmed it.

“You live with that homophobic git. Shadwell.”

“He’s my landlord. I mean he was, he evicted me yesterday which I think technically was illegal. It’s opposite Madame Tracey’s place, I don’t know if you know her as that. She does psychic readings some days as well as her,”

“Stop talking, just stop.” Crowley took a breath, one of them had to and it seemed Newt had no intention of doing so. “I’m not bothered about the laptop.”

“Thanks, I didn’t mean to destroy it. I can probably get the data off it if you want.”

“You want me to trust you with the computer you smashed ten minutes ago?”

“Yes, or rather I can see why you wouldn't to. It's probably a bad idea really. I can’t do it today anyway. I have an interview for a computer technician. Or would have, I’m not sure it’s worth going without a change of clothes.” The coffee, not content with killing Crowley’s laptop had also half covered Newt’s shirt. “I had a set,”

“Stop, less words. Satan you’re useless.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t apologise. Just, can’t you go get changed?”

“Not really, I left everything in my car, but then it got,”

“Towed.” Crowley remembered Tracey mentioning it. He’d been trying to not talk about Aziraphale kissing him, and she had finally admitted defeat and changed the subject.[10] To Crowley’s great annoyance, she switched back to Crowley asking about Aziraphale’s ID card and whether avoiding the bookshop for nearly a week was a reasonable response. He hadn’t wanted to ask, but it wasn’t anything to do with Aziraphale’s card, it was the encryption key it held. Which he could have got anywhere and wouldn’t have been a big deal. Except he’d been trying to get hold of it for nearly two months. None of which was going to help with the coffee stained Newt who was lingering near him. Probably waiting for Crowley to fix his problems. He wasn’t a fucking guardian angel, none of what was happening was his fault. He couldn’t be expected to just drop everything and help.

On the other hand, Crowley really wanted to piss of Shadwell. It had started at his second session with Tracey, he’d been staring at his phone trying to ignore the noises of a more questionable nature when Shadwell had come up to him and asked decided to comment on his choice to have purple nails that day. Over time it had become something of a game for Crowley. Never anything major. Just little things, loosening the screws in the door handle so it rattled, turning the doormat upside down. What made it entertainment was the fact that Shadwell _knew_ it was him. He’d turn the handle of his door and glare at Crowley.[11] The newspaper he left near his door was reordered, Crowley asked if he saw the interesting article on page 17. Not that Shadwell would say anything, at some point he’d become convinced Crowley was involved in organised crime.[12] So it was just the glaring and slammed doors. Still, helping his former tenant get a job would really piss him off.

“Okay, where’s this interview?”

“Syolo, it’s,”

“I know it.” Crowley had never won the lottery.[13] He didn’t believe in destiny, or fate, or any of that nonsense. Didn’t have time to do believe. But remarkable coincidences were just that, remarkable. And to be seized with both hands.

“What time is your interview, and are you likely to get the job?”

“It’s at four. I don’t know if I will get the job. I mean, I suppose I’m qualified but I come across,”

“As a walking disaster.”

“Right.” Newt, probably short for Newton now Crowley thought about it,[14] hovered. It was annoying but Crowley wasn’t planning on spending that much time with him. The time he’d have to spend listening to the rambling would really cut into his naps. “It probably wouldn’t work out anyway, I'm just not good with computers. They break.”

“Always?”

“Quite often. Or the network stops working. A printer set on fire when I was printing my dissertation.” Crowley grinned, it just kept getting better. Fucking Jeremy wouldn’t know what hit him.

“So theoretically, if you do land a job there’s a good chance it wouldn’t last anyway?”

“Not really, they might put me in charge of sorting cables or something.” That would at least mean if Newt did get the job his chances wouldn’t be destroyed by anything Crowley was going to do.

“Follow me. Might as well make sure you get to the interview at least.”

“Can I use your loos?” Crowley had needed to improvise a bit with his cover. For a start, he didn’t have one. But he did have a suit, a laptop bag,[15] and the name of the receptionist’s somewhat distant sister-in-law. He’d told Newt to wait outside and not break anything until Crowley called him.[16] He’d even been given a visitors pass which wouldn’t access the computers but would mean no one questioned why he was near the office being used for interviews. If he put the pass on backwards, no one could even tell it was for a visitor.

Crowley lurked for a few minutes and then turned off a few of the lights. From there it was fairly easy to let each interview candidate know that they were having some issues with lighting, so the interviews were being moved to the fourth floor. The fact that Syolo’s offices didn’t include the fourth floor meant nobody there would be able to direct them back downstairs. The start up that was using the space, from what Crowley could tell, made alternate colour schemes for websites and apps. They also were in the middle of reorganising and expanding. A few college-age idiots in cheap suits wouldn’t look out of place for at least an hour.

Newt’s interview went fairly well, even ignoring that the competition didn’t show up.[17] Crowley had enough cover to use one of the admin offices to photocopy a small pile of forms he had found. Crowley’s luck apparently hadn’t yet run out as the photocopier needed ID to print. The woman he borrowed an ID card from was sympathetic that his wasn’t working, _again_. She hadn’t noticed when he returned the visitor ID to her.

**

Two days after he got an unexpected hug from Newt,[18] Crowley parked his Bentley near the bookshop. He had debated arriving earlier in the afternoon, then slept through two alarms and woke up to realise he still needed to buy wine. Heading for the bookshop was the obvious choice for the evening anyway, between trying to drunkenly outsmart encryption software, and the more successful stealing a copy of the key he hadn’t seen Aziraphale for almost a week.

He didn’t seem to mind Crowley monopolising his evenings, he was always happy to suggest somewhere to get food or have a bottle of wine to share. The bookshop was still open, which was unusual. Possibly there hadn’t been any customers and Aziraphale forgot to flip the sign.[19] Crowley wandered through the shop before dropping onto the sofa. The lack of greeting from Aziraphale was odd. As were the straightened sofa cushions and, now Crowley had to stretch to reach it, the sofa had actually been moved away from the table.

The feeling only grew. _Odd_. The mood of the place, Aziraphale’s behaviour, the cushions. Crowley couldn’t spot anything out of place, except a tangle of wire in a bin that looked like Aziraphale was at risk of throwing an ethernet cable away. There was always the chance that Aziraphale’s family had stopped by, but that usually resulted in Aziraphale closing early. Not whatever this was. It looked like half the books stacked around the backroom had been sorted, so it could have just been Aziraphale tidying.[20] Except if anything there were _more_ book piles and significantly less space to move around.

“Get up, we’re heading out.” Aziraphale’s words were frosty, probably aimed at a customer hiding amongst the bookcases. It took Crowley a second to realise Aziraphale was addressing him. He rolled his eyes, more out of habit than anything else before standing up to follow Aziraphale. At least he’d find out what the fuck was going on.

**

Crowley didn’t even remember picking up the croton and plant pot and throwing it. He did watch the cheap terracotta pot it had been sold in shattering on impact. And the soil dumping over the floor. Then he went and found a spare pot and, after untangling a few roots and removing some of the leaves broken by its sudden interaction with Newton’s Third Law, he replanted it. He couldn’t even blame it on the plant, he’d only bought it a few days earlier.

At some point, Crowley would be able to reflect that people learn conflict resolution from their families.[21] Aziraphale’s family,[22] did not do the resolution aspect. Disagreement with a touch of annoyance was almost always, as far as Crowley could tell, the prelude to an argument turning to insult hurling. Hurt the other person until they sulk off to lick their wounds. Future Crowley would understand this and relate it back to his own approach to arguments, glare and then make spiteful comments or refuse to take what was being said seriously. As it was, Crowley was reflecting on Aziraphale’s declaration that they weren’t friends. That reflecting took the shape of shouting at the succulents he had picked up a few months ago to give to Aziraphale. Except they were completely fucking pointless and weren’t even managing to stay alive.

The neighbours hadn’t knocked to complain about the sudden noise at least. Probably too used to dealing with Crowley’s plant-focused shouting to worry about a smashed pot. It was early anyway. Earlier than it felt. People cared less about loud noises when it was daytime. His learnt that at his first flat. Well, the first that was just Crowley’s. He’d stayed up nearly three days before he managed to sleep. The screaming that woke Crowley up with the sense that he was about to die also woke up several neighbours. That had been a fun conversation with the police officer they called. Mag, a quiet woman who Crowley had noticed watching as he moved in, had called around the following afternoon with a snake plant as a housewarming. She'd mentioned they helped her at a similar time.

Crowley had moved.

It was embarrassing, how easily she had read the situation. That all his neighbours would remember that about him. It was too much for him to deal with. Crowley had grabbed the two boxes he had brought with him, he hadn’t even started unpacking, and left. But he took the plant with him, didn’t even know the species back then. For a while it was the only thing that didn’t come with the flat besides some clothes and a half-dead coffee machine. A month later he’d bought a second. Then a third. Then a sofa and television because that’s what people have in flats.

After entirely too long staring at the dirt that clung to the wall, Crowley stood up and moved his larger plants to the balcony. The tradescantia and a few that needed to be inside were shoved in the bath and sinks. A few of the smaller, more temperamental ones were placed carefully in a box. Crowley slotted the snake plant in too, he hadn’t left it behind yet.

He wasn’t moving. Not really, he just needed some time out of London. He was leaving his Bentley and most his plants. His bag was already packed, everything else he needed was in the safe. He was exhausted, hibernating for a few months would have been a very appealing option. Crowley would have tried it if he trusted himself to give up and get out of bed at some point. He was mostly just putting off the pit he knew he’d fall into once he actually accepted what had happened. The Victoria line was too busy to take up a seat with a box of plants. Crowley did it anyway. Euston was hectic, but it was early enough that the trains to Manchester were every twenty minutes.

* * *

[1] This thought experiment, as far as Crowley could tell, fell apart with any prodding regardless of whether it was a trolley bus or a train. For a start, if a group of idiots sets up a picnic on the track, they probably deserve to be hit. Not to mention most moving objects have horns, so the people could scatter if they wanted. Or they were tied to the tracks in some bizarre hostage situation,* which wouldn’t be the drivers fault anyway. The final nail in the coffin was that regardless of idiots hanging around on rail tracks, there was a good chance the train would be cancelled.**

*This is poor hostage taking. The hostages should be kept securely. A dead somewhat dismembered splat of a human is a poor bargaining chip

*Reasons for trains not running on any average day in the UK include: A fire next to the track; reports of a horse; a drinks machine not working on the train; the conductor being delayed as their train to work was cancelled; a trampoline on the tracks and, a change to the timetable that has been expected for several months.

[2] Although Crowley suspected it would keep one finger on the line while otherwise meandering past it only to explain they were still touching it and so not _technically_ outside it.

[3] Plus, they’d been drinking wine, experience had taught Crowley that after that much wine, alcoholic grape tended to be the overwhelming flavour.

[4] Except in Australia, where the laws of mathematics are very commendable, but the only law that applies in Australia is the law of Australia.

[5] Crowley had tried washed them by hand. That had mostly resulted in a few of hours returning them to the same state they were in pre-wash.

[6] Wine and lube.

[7] True she was 68 and typed with one finger, but she brought in traybakes on Tuesdays, and organised all the office birthday cards.*

*It was even odds if her own birthday was remembered. The rocky road she brought to the retirement lunch she organised for herself was incredible, she hadn’t even got a slice. She _also_ didn’t have a terrible case of the shits due to the laxatives she had mixed into it.

[8] Preferably a complete dick, so Crowley didn’t need to bother covering his tracks.

[9] A still-employed barista brought over an espresso by way of an apology in less than a minute. Then he’d been given four free loyalty cards and a second new espresso from the manager only a few minutes later. Crowley suspected he would continue to receive free drinks for as long as he sat there with the broken laptop.

[10] After overrunning the session nearly an hour. This had meant leaving a rather embarrassed middle-aged man in a suit sat on the step trying to be invisible for far longer than would be comfortable even if he were there for innocuous reasons.

[11] Or more accurately, at Crowley sat there playing with a screwdriver.

[12] Crowley had done nothing to deny this.

[13] Never won it fairly, anyway.

[14] And bothered to read his name tag.

[15] The laptop itself no longer fitted inside the bag.

[16] This was after he told Newton to not introduce himself as a salamander.

[17] Crowley’s method of helping people get jobs almost always centred around removing any competition. It was usually more subtle than giving bad directions, but he was in a rush.

[18] Getting the car, _Dick Turpin_ , back from the impound might have been a mistake.

[19] He’d certainly forgotten to open for similar reasons.

[20] Crowley had never seen Aziraphale tidy the shop, but it must happen at least occasionally.

[21] Or, as if the case with some families, from expensive therapists later in life.

[22] Being total cunts,


	10. WWCD

“Who doesn’t improvise bookmarks?” The bartender, who until that point had been more than happy to refill Aziraphale’s drinks and listen to his problems seemed less sympathetic than they had earlier in the evening.[1]

“I know it says we’re open until four, but this is going to have to be your last one.”

“Oh, I do apologise, my dear. I hadn’t realised it was quite so late.” Aziraphale sipped at his cocktail,[2] it wasn’t any of the gin-based cocktails he usually favoured but it was strong. Even if the bartender seemed confused when he had asked what it was made of.[3]

“I’m avoiding going back to the hotel you see.” The bartender moved to serve someone else, Aziraphale failed to notice this. “Terrible of me really. I don’t know why I’m trying to put off the inevitable, it’s not like it makes a difference.” It had taken him several drinks to settle on that realisation. At most, he had until tomorrow when Crowley would demand he sign whatever forms he had found. He’d probably get away with keeping the ring at least. If he hid it before Crowley saw he was still wearing it, and never let Crowley knew he had it. He’d need to remember to take it off when he got back to the hotel, he didn’t want to lose it on the way there.

“Do you want us to call somebody?”

“I’ll be quite alright my dear. I will finish this drink, make use of your facilities and be on my way.” Aziraphale glanced down to realise his drink was empty.

“I think my glass leaked.” The bartender gave a sigh,

“One more. After that I’m calling someone to come and get you back to your room safely.” They were quite stingy with the drink, but Aziraphale appreciated their concern.

“Thank you, my dear. I admit I’m not quite sure how to get back to the hotel from here.” Or where ‘here’ was, but Aziraphale was confident it couldn’t be that far from the hotel. He didn’t remember having to walk outside more than a minute or two. He even recognised a few of the staff from the hotel moving around, clearly enjoying a drink after the end of their shifts. It must have been quite popular. “I married my friend while drunk, and now I’m trying to avoid him you see.”

“Right.”

Aziraphale’s second final drink went a lot slower.[4] He didn’t want to go back to the hotel, regardless of the time. Crowley would probably still be up, waiting for Aziraphale. There might be somewhere he could go between the bar and the hotel, have another drink while he worked out what to do. Although.

Maybe it would be better to go and find Crowley, explain his reluctance to forget the whole thing. He could tell Crowley that he would have married him without the shots of tequila and whatever else he had been drinking.

“I’m not sure I want to annul it, but he does.”

“Hmm?”[5]

“And I can’t ask him not to, not after everything else I’ve done.” That was the conclusion he had been reaching all evening. He couldn’t make his feelings Crowley’s problem yet again.

“Right.”

“I’ll be lucky if he speaks to me at all after this.” The bartender gave a polite smile, then hurried off to speak with another customer. One of the hotel staff having an afterwork drink. She gave him another smile as they picked up the phone, probably a cab to get him back to the hotel. He didn’t remember mentioning it, but she seemed confident she had called the right place. Perhaps the hotel staff that was there recognised him.

“They’ll be down in a few minutes.”

“Thank you so much. I should, oh. I already finished it.” She smiled at him and took the glass in a way Aziraphale suspected was to stop him asking for another refill. He’d need to remember to pay his bill before leaving.

“It’s fine, thanks. I’ve got him.” Aziraphale nearly fell off his stood in a scramble to stand up and hide his hands.

“Crowley.” How had they called Crowley? He hadn’t given them Crowley’s number. Had he given them Crowley’s number?

“Come on.” Crowley looked, annoyed. Very, very annoyed. He’d walked all the way in his slippers, well, Aziraphale’s slippers. Had he been that desperate to confront Aziraphale?

“How did you find the bar?” Crowley gave a sigh, he looked almost pained. Aziraphale wasn’t sure why, had he forgotten telling Crowley where he was going? Most of the evening was a blur.

“You’re at the hotel bar, Angel. They called the room because they didn’t trust you to operate the lift.”

“Oh.”

* * *

“What about you?”

“What about me?” Anathema shared a smile with Newt, Aziraphale suspected he knew where the interrogation was heading. That didn’t mean he wasn’t going to drag it out. It was an honour that she would to involve him so much in wedding planning, although aside from cake tasting, Aziraphale wasn’t sure he would be much use.

“Are you thinking of a plus one?”

“Oh, I see. No that’s, no.”

“What happened?” Aziraphale decided on a creative retelling of the truth. Crowley would have been so proud.

“I, well there was somebody but I got rather the wrong end of the stick. Things ended rather poorly.” That didn’t quite cover the mess Crowley had left in his wake. Within a week, Michael visited the bookshop. Michael didn’t visit the bookshop. Michael didn’t _ever_ visit the bookshop. Michael’s trips outside the office were reserved for visiting competition, assessing weakness. She wanted Aziraphale’s company ID. Aziraphale hadn’t been able to hand his over, Crowley hadn’t bothered to return it. He hadn’t even needed to explain why he couldn’t hand it over; she had chastised him for losing it but said it didn’t matter anyway. The breech had been from the other company, a card stolen while they were interviewing new staff. Which meant Crowley had at least been good enough to cover his tracks. Michael took far too much notice of the new internet. Not that she knew the internet was a new addition, unless she and Gabriel had stopped arguing long enough to discuss it. Aziraphale still hadn’t disconnected it; presumably Crowley would remember to stop paying for the connection at some point.[6]

“Probably had different auras. Do you know what his birth year was?”

“No, no we didn’t share anything like that.” Or more accurately, Crowley hadn’t shared anything like that. Aziraphale had spent months running through everything in his head. It wasn’t a break up, they had never been together. That didn’t stop it from feeling like one. A bad one. It had been nearly eight months, Aziraphale told himself he wasn’t keeping track. Moving the sofa hadn’t helped. The days seemed to drag endlessly while the week sped past. He’d toyed with the idea of a book club to break up the monotony, but the first person to enquire seemed to expect Aziraphale to sell the books they would be discussing.[7]

It had been a godsend that Anathema visited more over the summer. She hadn’t mentioned the rearranged furniture or asked what was wrong, but the smiles had been slightly too sympathetic for her to have not known somethings was wrong. One visit, not too long before the term restarted, she had dragged along a very nervous Newton. Aziraphale was delighted, Anathema was a wonderful person and Newt looked at her with such adoration it was almost palpable. Then she had returned to Oxford. But caught the train back every weekend and, as the weather turned from wet to cold and wet, she had invited Aziraphale to have dinner and meet the best man while they organised a party weekend. [8] A chance for everyone to meet each other, especially with half the guests living in America.

“Newt’s best man will be along in a few minutes. He’s single.” Aziraphale reassessed the set up. One couple both bringing their single friends. A fairly fancy restaurant, Anathema and Newt choosing seats that meant the final member of their party would have to sit next to Aziraphale. Surely Anathema wouldn’t have done something so embarrassing.

“He hasn’t ever actually said that, I mean he could be.” Anathema cut across her fiancé with a blaring smile at Aziraphale.

“You’ll like him I’m sure.” She had. She had tricked him into a double date with Newt’s mystery guest.

“Really Anathema, there’s no need to-”

“Just give him a chance? You can decide once you’ve actually met him.” Aziraphale sighed, there was no way he could get out of this without insulting whoever it was, assuming they knew. Anathema might have misled Newt’s friend in the same way. Perhaps they could bond over that, the desire people in happy relationship to try to pair everyone else up. It was hardly worth contemplating that anything else could come of it, unless Newt had an equally unlikely friendship with a middle-aged gay man, and his friend wasn’t -as Aziraphale suspected- barely out of his teenage years as Newt himself was. Best not to get his hopes up. He could do polite talking for one evening, he managed it at enough Christmas parties over the years. Hopefully, that wouldn’t make things terribly awkward at a later point.

“Fine. And what would be this mysterious fellow’s name?”

“Antony, he helped Newt get his job.” Aziraphale acquiesced and sipped at his wine. That didn’t sound too terrible, not some university chum at least. Not the list of objections he had begun compiling ended there.

“Is he habitually twenty minutes late?”

“Give him another ten, then I can call him.”

Twenty-two minutes later, Anathema pulled out a tablet and set it up on the table. Aziraphale protested, but Anathema statement, _“if the restaurant staff minded, they would tell her so_.” seemed to be the end of the discussion.[9] Anathema could be very, _American_ , when it came to some matters.

“We’ll video call, the speakers will work better.” Newt reached to adjust the tablet but it was shielded by Anathema. “I don’t want it to die.”

After some blobs appeared on the screen, it flicked to showing the booth they were sat in. Aziraphale scooted outside the frame, no need for him to be broadcast to whoever the unfortunate soul was. The word calling flashed on the screen for almost a minute before there was a ding and it switch to loading screen. Finally, the video switched to showing half a body and a tentacle escaping from underneath a smart jacket.

“Yeah, I’ll be late.” Aziraphale felt his stomach perform a flip worthy of an Olympic gymnast as the voice blared from the speakers. He knew that voice. He did not know how it was coming from Anathema’s tablet. He nearly asked _How_ , but a more pressing question burst out before Aziraphale realised he’d spoken.

“Is that squid?”

“No, it’s an octopus, Angel. Why on earth would,” Crowley’s voice trailed off, “have a squid?” Anathema and Newt exchanged a very obvious look. Not that Aziraphale saw it. A beat later,[10] Crowley shifted the phone to look at the display. He’d changed his sunglasses but there was no mistaking the sharp features. A tentacle reached up[11] and was quickly detached. Aziraphale had no idea what he was supposed to say. Seven and half months and suddenly he was staring at Crowley with a somewhat over-amorous octopus. It was orange and trying to steal Crowley’s sunglasses.[12] Because Crowley was there, wherever there was. A building of some sort, the speedy walk had stopped entirely when he had registered Aziraphale’s presence. The octopus made a grab for the phone, which resulted in a very inelegant flail from Crowley to keep hold of it. The camera spun, an office of some sort, or at least the reception of one. A bus drove past the building, a London bus. Crowley back in London.

The tablet suddenly blared with the sound of an alarm, Crowley looked around, clearing the siren was coming from whatever building Crowley was in.

“Shit, got to go. Don’t wait for me.” The tablet screen went black.

“So, you and Antony know each other?” Aziraphale drank more wine to give him time to think.[13] He recognised Crowley, but the reality was that he knew barely anything. Wine preferences and opinions on Shakespeare, nothing that couldn’t have just been made up in the moment. Aziraphale would never know.

“Yes, I knew him as Crowley. Suffice to say, I don’t think he would want to see me.”

“How’d you meet? School? Calling kids by their last names is a thing over here, right?”

“Oh no, nothing like that. We were acquainted for a while. London seems like remarkably small place at times.”

“Why did he have an octopus?”

“Best not to speculate.”

The rest of the meal passed without further mention of Crowley,[14] for which Aziraphale was very grateful. His thoughts were less well behaved, every thought seemed to lead back to the knowledge Crowley had returned to London. Not that Aziraphale could be certain he had ever left. Still, he heard the whispers. Meeting and networking events passed without issue. If anything, it was making people more worried; the chaos they would normally have to deal with seemed absent. That did nothing to reassure event organisers and their secretaries across London, most of whom were sure that just meant they’d missed something. Aziraphale had even googled Crowley’s name looking a trace, even after admitting to himself that Crowley was more than capable of disappearing without leaving a trail. The most success he had was the discovery of a gardening blog, which was to say he found nothing relevant to _his_ Crowley.[15] If Crowley had been in London the whole time, he hadn’t been working. Until a few weeks ago, there was an incident involving irreplaceable technical designs and overly-wobbly jelly. [16] All of which didn’t help Aziraphale answer the myriad of questions that the sudden reappearance had brought.

The walk back to the bookshop was bitterly cold. Christmas bore down on London with cold rain and blurred lights. Carols blared from shops open late in case customers wanted to panic buy presents. It was barely December. He tried not to think on whether Crowley might disappear again. For a start, it wasn’t something that should have bothered him.[17] It wouldn’t have, if Crowley hadn’t been on Anathema’s device. If Aziraphale hadn’t pressed her to call and check how late _Antony_ was going to be. Antony didn’t feel like Crowley’s name. It fit the initials he had given to Gabriel, _AJ_ , but that meant nothing. That Anathema had jumped so quickly to Crowley being his surname suggested it was true. Maybe. Would he have shown up if Anathema hadn’t called? If they had just waited would he have made it to the restaurant?[18] What then?

Aziraphale opened a bottle of wine, then put a stopper in it and found the gin. Crowley didn’t drink gin, not at the bookshop. He might drink it, with some other pool soul who didn’t realise they were a marionette for Crowley’s plans. Aziraphale could feel months of dedicating himself to not spiralling into hypothetical Crowley-related situation crumble under the weight of what ifs.

Half a glass later, Aziraphale retreated upstairs. It was harder to stare at the lack of a sofa from there. Crowley hadn’t been upstairs, not that Aziraphale could think of anyway. He had a chair somewhere, and a table. He could sit in his room and enjoy his books alongside his gin and there was nothing to remind him of Crowley. The pile of books he had moved from the table overbalanced from their new perch on the ottoman. Aziraphale hurried to check for damage and then stopped. He’d been reading Chaucer the evening after Crowley had text him the first time. After the fire alarm. He’d finished ‘The Friar’s Tale’ and then turned in for the night. He’d grabbed the closest thing he could spot as a bookmark. He hadn’t picked the book back up since then. The fall dislodged his bookmark, one very much not stolen ID card, from within the pages.

### **

Crowley hadn’t called two days later.

Aziraphale decided to leave the bookshop, if only so his phone vigil didn’t stretch to a third day. He stopped at the café he had once spotted Crowley in. He wasn’t there. Of course he wasn’t. The receptionist didn’t bother to check his ID when he arrived at the office,[19] not that Aziraphale actually broke stride as he crossed the lobby. Gabriel was incredibly confused to see him there voluntarily. He didn’t seem to care that Aziraphale had found his ID to hand in. Aziraphale placed it on his desk anyway. He couldn’t have it in his shop, a constant reminder that he had thrown away his closest friend because he was to worried about his family’s disappointment to listen. Handing it in was the only thing he could think to do with it. He turned to leave and then his plan fell apart.

“Look Sunshine, while you’re here, there’s a few things we need to discuss.” Aziraphale froze. “It’s about the bookshop.”

“My bookshop?” Aziraphale didn’t even know why he had to clarify. Gabriel’s tone was, almost patronising when Aziraphale considered it. An adult about to let a child down gently. 

“ _Our_ bookshop Zira. Heavenly Solutions owns half of it.”

“That’s just a technicality. I have a stake here; it doesn’t mean I do anything for the company.”

“The bookshop is losing money Zira; it has never had a profitable quarter.” Aziraphale didn’t bother to correct his name. Years of politely doing so showed it never held. At best it was used sarcastically for the next sentence, then forgotten. “The company, the family, we’re trying to attract new partners. They will have questions about why we’re wasting prime real estate on a pointless bookshop.” Gabriel’s smile was mild and unmoving as he spoke. It was all simple for him. Profit. Maximise the profit, minimise expenditure. Unless it benefited him.

“It’s not pointless.” _I didn’t use your card._

“It has to go, Zira. You know that.”

“Do I?” _I mean, it’s the truth._

“I know your sentimental about the stupid books, heck you could keep some. I’m sure you can find somewhere to put them.” Aziraphale sat opposite Gabriel. He dimly remembered listening his brother explain that he made sure the visitors chair in his office was lower than his. Some nonsense about remaining dominant in a negotiation. His ID card was still sat on the desk in front of him.

“They belong in the shop.”

“Fine, we’ll sell it with the inventory intact.”

“Why are you doing this?” Gabriel wasn’t even listening. _You sound like your brother._

“I know you don’t understand how things work in the real world, but you need to realise how much of a drain this is.” _You sound like your brother._

“That is my home. It’s my bookshop. You can’t just sell it.”

“Don’t be stupid, Zira. It’s basically done; we just need your signature. Saved me a trip with this little visit.” _You sound like your brother._

Aziraphale clenched his teeth, bit down on the urge to scream his name in Gabriel’s face. This was what he sacrificed Crowley for. _Friends? We’re not friends._ For his family to decide that his home was a waste and needed to be sold for a quick profit. They were expecting what? For him to sign over everything he had and then smile and pretend it was all fine? He had done everything his family wanted, stayed out the way, said nothing while they demanded he made pleasantries to bigots purely because it meant more clients. Years of saying nothing, asking for nothing, and his reward was that they wanted to take even more. _You can’t expect me to keep fraternizing with you after this._ Worse, he let them. Let them take everything else. He’d left university for the family. He’d stayed quiet, avoided anything that might scandalise clients. He went to endless events purely so they could say someone was there. They hadn’t even needed to ask him to give up Crowley, he’d done that himself. _You can’t expect me to keep fraternizing with you after this._ There was every chance Crowley would disappear again without Aziraphale ever managing to track him down. Without having the chance to apologise. All he had left was his bookshop. His home. Aziraphale watched the un-twitching smile facing him, and saw the answer.[20]

“I’ll buy it off you.” Gabriel looked at Aziraphale with concern.

“That’s not what-”

“It gets it off the books. I don’t see why it matters who buys it out.” He’d interrupted Gabriel. He never interrupted Gabriel. A flash of annoyance ran across his brother’s face, but Aziraphale was past caring.

“That is prime development space, you can’t afford to buy it.”

“A trade then. I get the bookshop, and in return I sign over my share in this place.”

“Be reasonable.” _Be reasonable Crowley._

“I am being. The stake I have here is worth far more than the bookshop. And you get me out the way.”

“We’re family Zira, we need to stick together.” Aziraphale saw the group meals, the company retreats, the relationships. He saw the ‘we’, it had never included him.

“I want no part in it. If you won’t buy me out, I’ll sell it to Michael. Or find somebody else. All I want is that bookshop. The bookshop, and the understanding that I will not being doing anything related to this place ever again.”

“Zira don’t be selfish.” Aziraphale smiled, he felt almost giddy.

“You’ve called me worse. Is Michael upstairs still? Or are you going to have the paperwork sorted out by Thursday? You can bring it round to my bookshop at three.” Gabriel stood glaring.

“I will walk you out. We don’t allow guests to move around unescorted.[21]” Aziraphale’s smile grew.

### **

Crowley bolted awake. The room around his was silent and dark. His room. He took a few unsteady breaths waiting for the thumping in his chest to calm. Breathe, hold, exhale. Everything was fine. He was alone, he was safe. A few taps on his phone brought up the cameras around his flat. Nothing. It was empty, quiet. The doors were still locked.  
  
It was barely 4am. But he wouldn't get back to sleep, wasn't sure he wanted to. More breathing exercises then, and turning on some of the lights. He was fine, he was alone. _Safe_. Bad dream, not that he could remember it. That was always better than the alternative, the times he woke up and couldn't tell it had been a dream. Too real. Too vivid. Woke up and half unlocked the door before the distinction because clear. He had less of those as time moved forward, panicked calls for help giving way to silently bursting into consciousness. He never tried to get back to sleep.

  
Plants. He could deal with the plants while he waited to feel better. Granted there were less now. He hadn’t meant to stay away so long, abandon them. A few had survived, the ones on the balcony. A few others that seemed to have taken the months without adequate water as some kind of challenge. The fucking succulents he had bought to give Aziraphale were growing beautifully and Crowley hated them for it.

Not that the plants were to blame. They were just plants. They were easier than people. Give them the right thing,[22] occasionally threaten them with sharp implements if they misbehaved. Couldn’t do that with people. Well you absolutely could, Crowley knew that. You could wave it around or just take it out and place it somewhere nearby. Didn’t even need to say anything, that it was visible was enough. Or the opposite. Move it from the usual visible spot and wait for them to notice it had moved; let their mind spiral as to whether or not you now have it. Crowley paused spraying his plants to check the knife block in the kitchen. Still full. Door still locked.

People responded to sharp implements even better than plants did, but that wasn’t okay.[23] People wanted different things to plants. For a start, not being buried and then waterboarded several days a week. Crowley was good at knowing what people wanted most the time. Had to be. It just didn’t translate well into anything beyond getting their password or avoiding a parking ticket. Long term shit like making friends was, difficult. Newt was a bit hopeless but seemed to be not terrible as people went. Anathema seemed competent enough for the pair at least. He couldn't tell what she thought of him. Apparently, his aura was "interesting".

It didn’t really matter now anyway. Anathema’s oldest friend in England, of course it was Aziraphale. He would have filled her in by now. She was smart enough to work out why he had helped Newt. From there it was back to business as usual. None of this helping organise a wedding nonsense. That was good. They should know. He should have told them, but it was a good change to not be regarded with suspicion every time he asked a question or made a suggestion. The witch[24] had been so happy for Newt to have somebody to talk to, and it had all been a lie. He should have stayed out of London, out the way. Except, London was home. All of it. If he was going to leave it would have been years ago, when he was only staying so he could tell himself he wasn't running and hiding. The job he had moved back for was just an excuse and he knew it.

Crowley didn't group Aziraphale with the other two. They weren't friends, Aziraphale had been very clear on that. As had the voice in Crowley's mind when he couldn't find anything to distract himself. He hadn't made an appointment with Tracey before leaving for Manchester. He hadn't been ready to talk through what happened, not then. Instead, he said he couldn't get back to London. The speculation of why she was so well set up for video appointments was not welcome in Crowley's mind. There were more rather difficult sessions than Crowley had expected. But he had got over it.[25] His last session, the first one back in London, had been easier. By the end, they had discussed seeing Aziraphale as a possibility. He had been ready, worked out areas he was likely to run into Aziraphale. He’d just nod, exchange polite greetings and then continue with that he was doing. It would be brief and he could be calm about it. The plan of being polite and civil had gone out the window.

It was absolutely not supposed to include wresting an octopus, accidentally using a fairly inappropriate nickname, staring in horror at the phone, and then hanging up. Excessive drinking once he got back to his flat was probably going to be the aftermath regardless of how well it had gone. He’d turned his phone to silent after Newt tried to call him twice the next day and Anathema sent several texts.

He wasn't going to contact Aziraphale. It had been eight months, Aziraphale had his number. Crowley wasn't fucked up enough to misread that.

* * *

[1] It was a small bar and the bartender was actually three bartenders. He’d been there when the shift changed.

[2] It was straight whisky.

[3] Because again, it was straight whisky. Which was what he had ordered. For his past six drinks.

[4] He forgot it was there twice and was delighted to find it had seemingly been refilled.

[5] While bartender one had been treated to an explanation of the literary tradition of Death in the Afternoon cocktails. The second had heard about his relationship with Crowley.

The third, somewhat confused about what was being annulled, had just been given instructions that they were not to refill his glass.

[6] He wouldn’t. He wasn’t paying for it.

[7] The man had been sorry to hear that numbers were limited due to fire regulations* but returned to see if there was a space.

*Aziraphale pretended not to remember that Crowley had invented that excuse.

[8] Having eschewed the traditional gendered celebrations of the impending marriage, Anathema and Newt had caused a ripple amongst some of their relatives by deciding to get incredibly drunk together.

[9] Aziraphale pretended not to notice the maître d' glare at them.

[10] Or at the rate Aziraphale’s felt like it was hammering, at least a dozen of beats.

[11] Aiming for cheekbones Aziraphale hadn’t been entirely sure he had remembered accurately. He had, if anything, toned them down.

[12] It was winning, if only because Crowley had one arm* to defend himself against 8 rather curious tentacles.

* The other was holding the phone far enough away that the octopus wouldn’t get ideas.

[13] Sadly, it was not one of the novelty glasses that could fit a full bottle of wine in and he finished the wine long before he had finished the thought.

[14] Anathema ordered the calamari.

[15] Not that Aziraphale would dream of* applying the possessive, even just in his thoughts.

* admit to

[16] It was raspberry jelly.

[17] _Should._

[18] If so, would he have arrived with the octopus?

[19] Aziraphale sent her a Christmas card every year and asked about her family every time their paths crossed; she’d recognise the waistcoat-clad bookseller anywhere.

[20] Jesus and the like are generally regarded as great sources of inspiration. While some people choose to make decisions based on WWJD, at that moment, Aziraphale muse was more earth-bound and far easier on the eyes. Probably. Less dead.

[21] And they’re definitely not to be allowed to head up on level to visit their other sibling who might be interested in consolidating a controlling share in the company.

[22] Mostly water and some light, plant care is rather repetitive.

[23] Shitty behaviour really.

[24] Not an insult, she had introduced herself as a witch and Crowley had never felt the need to ask if she was joking.

[25] Well, he had learnt to shove it into a dark corner at the back of his mind with all the other stuff he didn’t want to think about. It was quite a crowded corner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know. I'm surprised I updated this so soon as well.


	11. Implements

Crowley sat Aziraphale down on the bed. He had considered the chair, bit less suggestive, but Aziraphale had struggled to lean steadily on Crowley in the elevator and the last thing he needed was Aziraphale toppling over onto the floor. The room service menu wasn’t great, but he handed it to Aziraphale regardless.

“You need to eat, sober up.” Aziraphale looked up between the menu and Crowley.

“You could have a drink and catch up.” Crowley dropped himself onto the bed, he was exhausted. Getting drunk and then retrieving the paperwork probably hadn’t been the best idea, but at least he had done something productive rather than run up a bar tab.

“Yes, because that ended so well last time.”

“Oh.” The hurt on Aziraphale’s face hit Crowley full force.

“Sorry, that was uncalled for. Mostly. What food do you want?”

“Hmm?”

“To sober up. Food. That you can eat. So we can talk.”

“I don’t really want to be sober.” Crowley resisted the urge to point out that he didn’t want to be either.

“Yeah, I got that much. Food?”

“Oh, whatever you fancy.”

“Angel, it is two in the morning. I’m not hungry.”

“Oh. I’m sorry, my dear. I shouldn’t be keeping you up.” Crowley grabbed the menu back from Aziraphale.

“Fuck it, you can have pancakes.” Aziraphale made a pleased noise, or a noise at least. Crowley called down to reception who were glad to hear he had managed to wrangle his husband back to the room. Crowley hung up rather abruptly after that. It was the middle of the night and he was trying to convince Aziraphale to sober up enough to sort out annulling their marriage. If it wouldn’t be completely useless, he would have said fuck it, grabbed some alcohol and headed back to his own room to wallow. There would be tears and he’d probably feel calmer about everything after. He wouldn’t feel _better_ about it, but it would make it easier to get through the next few days. Crowley watched as Aziraphale fretted over his waistcoat, one of the buttons was slightly loose. Crowley didn’t trust him enough to hand over the small sewing kit that the hotel had left in the room, sharp things when drunk were almost never a good idea. He could drink and wallow and cry a bit after he had sorted out the whole not being married thing. Until then he could just ignore it.

The pancakes arrived and looked a lot like pancakes. Aziraphale had been excited right up until he saw them.

“Oh.”

“Oh?”

“I, they’re American.”

“Yes. We are in America.”

“I just, crepes would be better.”

“If you wanted crepes you should have accidentally got married in France.” Aziraphale teared up slightly.

“I’m sorry.” Crowley felt his stomach drop. He didn’t want to upset Aziraphale, he’d spent the entire weekend trying to make things as easy as possible for Aziraphale. Sign the form and then never think about it again. He didn’t want Aziraphale feeling guilty. Sure, Crowley was going to be paying Tracey for a ridiculous amount of sessions to deal with the whole situation, but that wasn’t Aziraphale’s fault.

“Hold on.”

Aziraphale lit up when Crowley returned from his room and held out the pack of custard creams. Hopefully Aziraphale didn’t think about how much Crowley detested the biscuits, it made it embarrassingly clear he had only brought them along for Aziraphale.

* * *

Aziraphale had been incredibly optimistic about the separation from his family for the first few weeks. After all, owning his bookshop outright was not, as Aziraphale had suspected, that different from it partially being a company asset. There was only really one change: without the dividends from Heavenly Solutions, and no revelations on the benefits of selling his books to customers, Aziraphale would need to cut down on his book acquisition quite a bit. Gabriel hadn’t been lying, the bookshop wasn’t profitable. It hadn’t needed to be previously. Still, Aziraphale had his savings,[1] and he could always sell a book or two if needed. Not that he would need to, he had already worked out how he was going to supplement his customer service attitude. Book restoration had always been something he found satisfying and even he could restore other people’s books as a source of income. Although he would need to be much stricter on returning them to the owners and not just offering to buy them.

It was barely two months before Aziraphale admitted to himself that things were not going to plan. He could be as positive as he liked but he could also do basic maths. At the rate the bookshop was depleting the money he had received from Michael,[2] he would be pulling funds from his savings within a year or so. He owned the building, so at least there wasn’t ground rent, but the heating, electricity, and the rest of the bills which seemed to be multiplying on his desk every time he sat down to work out a budget. What he could use, even briefly, was somebody who knew about finances, and business rates, and what business purchases were exempt.[3] The only person he knew that he didn’t share a last name with was Crowley and that was not an option. Given how the video call had ended, Aziraphale decided it was unlikely Crowley was going to attempt a reconsolidation. Since that night Crowley had barely been in touch with Anathema or Newt either, although he was still in London.

Not that Aziraphale had time to be thinking about Crowley. He had finally been contacted by a second customer looking to repair two books of poems in woeful condition. Aziraphale had been disappointed at the lack of custom so far. He hoped things wouldn’t be bad enough that he would need to sell any more books.[4] Still, it was hardly the time of year for people to splurge on restoring the unloved books that they had grabbed from a departed relative’s house in the hopes they were worth more than the shelf space they took up. Summer would probably bring far more customers, until then he was grateful for any job. The round trip to Edinburgh had eaten into the potential profit, but he was hardly in a position to demand the customer delivered the books. Then the train back from Edinburgh had been delayed due to weather,[5] which meant rather than getting back in time to avoid the evening rush he was surrounded by commuters from the second he stepped off the train.

It was barely a mile to the bookshop, which Aziraphale was especially thankful for when he realised it was snowing enough to have brought public transport to a standstill.[6] He couldn’t even see the steps of the escalators down to the tube, the only transport likely to still be attempting to function with seemingly the entirety of London’s population relying on it. It looked miserably cold outside, but it was only a short walk. The thought of trying to hold onto the books while fighting his way through the underground at rush hour was ridiculous. The barging and hurrying would probably not end well for the fragile books. He could brave the weather; true he didn’t have his coat, but he had remembered to take an umbrella, so he was sure it would be fine.

Almost an hour later, things were not fine. His umbrella had given up within five minutes of getting outside. It nearly hit one of the few buses that hadn’t already given up and returned to the depot.[7] The wind was picking up considerably and it seemed that there was considerably more snow than he had anticipated. He was also regretting choosing to forgo finding a waterproof bag for the books. He’d tucked them inside his coat as much as he could, but it would be hard to know if it had worked until he could take them out in the bookshop. Which was the current issue.

He was locked out.

Aziraphale had remembered to take his keys, he always did. It was SoHo, he couldn’t leave the bookshop unlocked while he wasn’t there.[8] The first lock had behaved, and then his key snapped inside the second. Aziraphale stared at the broken piece of metal for a truly ridiculous amount of time before comprehending the situation he was in. The bookshop was locked, he couldn’t get inside. He had absolutely nowhere to go. Anathema and Newt were in Oxford, and his family house wasn’t an option he wanted to consider. He crouched, leaning back against his door. It wasn’t particularly good shelter, if anything the water soaking through to his back was making him colder. Crowley was in London. Except Crowley was no longer in Aziraphale’s phone.[9] At best, he felt it started with a 0 and then maybe a 7.[10] Even showing up unannounced wasn’t an option, he had no idea where Crowley lived. If it was even nearby.

If Crowley had shared that with Aziraphale, which seemed like something friends normally shared, Aziraphale still doubted he would be brave enough to go there. He still hadn’t worked out what he would say to Crowley. He’d apologise, if nothing else Aziraphale was sure of that. Apologise for accusing him of stealing the stupid card. Things got less clear after that. It kept replaying in his mind, the things he had said to Crowley purely to hurt him. It wasn’t intentional, or at least, Aziraphale didn’t actively decide to do that. Crowley had been right; he had sounded like Gabriel. Exactly like Gabriel. He had done exactly what Gabriel had tried to do to him, refuse to listen and then insult when he didn’t get his way. The truth was, Aziraphale had no idea how to move on from that. He had hurt Crowley. At the time, he’d thought Crowley left London to avoid being caught for the security breech. Looking back, Crowley had left because of what Aziraphale said, because Crowley couldn’t bear to stay. The books he had read on communication skills didn’t quite cover the situation. There had been no chapters titled ‘ _So you falsely accused your best friend of manipulating you to steal company secrets’_.

The only glimmer of hope was that Crowley had recognised where it had come from. Crowley had realised how bad the issues with his family were from the start. Crowley had offered to throw him a party when Aziraphale went against them. Breaking all contact and separating financially definitely qualified, but Aziraphale doubted the offer was still open. He had wavered after his conversation with Gabriel, he wanted to share the news. Crowley would have been thrilled, or at least appeared to be. Aziraphale frown at the puddle beginning to ice over at his feet, annoyed that doubt still crept in. It didn’t matter really, Crowley hadn’t reached out after it had been announced, granted it was a very quiet announcement, more of a statement really, a whisper. Most people wouldn’t have noticed, Crowley watched everything too closely to have missed it. Aziraphale felt he should probably be the one to test the waters, Newt had Crowley’s number, he could send a message. Except, he didn’t want Crowley to feel he had to leave again.

In the end, it didn’t matter whether he would have talked himself into appearing on Crowley’s doorstep, whether Crowley would understand why Aziraphale treated him so terribly, if he would hear Aziraphale out before slamming the door in his face. It wasn’t a possibility. Getting a train to Oxford and staying with Anathema and Newt for the night was probably manageable. If the trains hadn’t been stopped due to the weather. If nothing else, Paddington would be open for a few hours and Aziraphale needed to get indoors, and dry. It was a nice walk in better weather, cutting down the side streets rather than Oxford Street, even the option to wander along Hyde Park if time wasn’t important. The inclement weather was not conducive to the nice stroll he would usually take.

He made it as far as the endless clothing stores on Oxford Street before the night managed to get even worse. Someone barged into him, and as he stumbled to recover, the bag with books in slipped from below his coat directly into a puddle. He scrambled to pick up the bag and forgot to breathe as he registered the water dripping from it. The books were wet. The books were very wet. The books, which his future ability to keep the bookshop hanged on, were wet. He moved under a shop awning, opening the bag to see any chance the books had, by some miracle escaped the dunking dripped away. He looked around desperately searching for somewhere he could try to save them. The library would be closed but they might have left a door open or something. A car horn blasted across his consciousness.

“Oi! Angel, get in the car.”

Aziraphale was hallucinating. There was absolutely no way Crowley had appeared, blocked a main road by stopping his car,[11] and offered him a ride. Except he was. A cacophony of car horns accompanied Crowley’s impromptu decision to stop traffic.

“Crowley?” It was clearly Crowley; or his highly recognisable car being driven by a doppelgänger.

“Come on, it’s fucking freezing.”

“What are you doing here?” Aziraphale wasn’t sure why he even asked. It wasn’t his business, nothing related to Crowley was anymore. Crowley seemed to give up at the question and shot back inside the car. Except then he was scrambling out of his car to hurry over to Aziraphale. Looking like he regretted that choice more with every snowflake that hit him, Crowley grabbed Aziraphale’s arm and pulled him towards the car. He was wearing a kilt, Aziraphale bit down on the urge to point that out.

“I am trying to make sure you don’t turn into a bizarre icicle with a built-in library. Why the fuck are you out in this weather?”

“Well, I hadn’t quite anticipated,”

“In the car, before I regret wearing this the traditional way.”[12]

Aziraphale got in the car.

Crowley blasted the heat on inside the car, the fans drowned out cries of _Scaramouche, Scaramouche_ ,[13] but it was cold as fuck outside and Aziraphale looked like he had decided to go swimming in an ice bucket.

“Thank you, I daresay I would have struggled to get much farther given the current weather.” Crowley looked across to Aziraphale. The universe was clearly fucking with him. Stuck in awful weather, why not add Aziraphale to the situation. Presumably, they were supposed to have some meaningful conversation and work everything out. All shits and giggles. Wasn’t happening. So Aziraphale was in the car, that didn’t mean Crowley had to go along with it. So Aziraphale was in his car. Fine. Still, no need to drag it out.

“Bookshop?” Aziraphale looked up, confusion shifted to disappointment and then to embarrassment.

“I'm locked out.” Aziraphale was fidgeting with the books. They were a bit soggy, and old. Crowley could almost hear the heartbreak.

“Of course you are.” Crowley was very glad his car had been serviced the previous week. There was absolutely no chance the engine would fail. The universe could fuck itself. They wouldn’t get stuck in the car together. There would be absolutely no scenario that would require the two of them to huddle for warmth. Not that Crowley was thinking about those scenarios. Or any others. Crowley’s mind was a scenario free zone.

“Can you get in?”

“Can I, Aziraphale. A barely trained rat could get into the shop.” Or Crowley with a bump key and a basic knowledge of how ineffective old locks were at keeping him out.

“Yes wonderful, I will track one down next time the key breaks in the lock.” Crowley let his head drop to rest against his hands on the wheel. Fuck it. If the engine failed Crowley could walk home. A car behind them honked impatiently, not that Crowley was going to bother to move the half a metre that the line in front of him had advanced. It wasn’t as though moving would improve the situation.

“The key broke in lock?”

“Yes, that's why I'm locked out.”

“That's not,” there was absolutely no point in correcting Aziraphale. Crowley was almost always equipped to bypass a lock. What he was not prepared for, was rescuing a snapped key. “Which lock?”

“The bottom one.” Naturally. Why would it be the one that Crowley could have sorted out? There was a clear pattern emerging.

“Right, that's not. I don't have the stuff I need in the car.” The reaction was awful; Aziraphale looked like he might cry, and Crowley couldn’t even pretend leaving was an option.[14] More awful was the urge to make Aziraphale feel better. Apparently, some parts of his brain had still not received the memo _Re: Not Friends_ yet.

“Ah. Well, I was heading to Paddington. Anathema and Newt aren’t too far from the Oxford train. I can stay there for the night.”  
“But the books,” Crowley was definitely not a book expert. Next to Aziraphale, he may as well have been half illiterate. Even Crowley knew water on books was bad. Aziraphale blinked rapidly, trying to clear the moisture gathering before it overspilt.

“Yes, but there doesn't seem to be a solution to,”

“I can break a window?”

“You will do no such thing! Do you have any idea how much it would cost to replace?”

“I can pay for the glass.”

“It would just let more water into the shop.” Crowley gave a sigh and pushed the Bentley into gear. He didn’t know why he even bothered trying any other solution.

“You can come to my place? If you want. It’s nearer than Oxford, and it’s dry.” Aziraphale didn’t reply for a while, probably trying to work out his chances of any other option that would allow him to save the books and not deal with Crowley.

“I would be very grateful. Thank you, my dear.” Crowley glanced around the street and pulled an almost-definitely illegal, or at least very ill-advised, U-turn.

Crowley’s route seemed, as far as Aziraphale could tell, to be mostly comprised of alleyways that were not designed for cars. They definitely weren’t designed for cars at the speed Crowley was driving. At least it was probably safer to be in the car than outside. Definitely safer if the outside area in question was anywhere in the near vicinity of Crowley’s car. The music was filling some of the awkward silence but not enough to make Aziraphale feel comfortable. He waited until he could feel his toes before the growing silent tension got to him.

“I suppose you were following me for some benign reason” The car slammed to a stop.

“You want to try that again?”

“It seems a somewhat large coincidence.” Crowley seemed to take a few seconds to compose his response. When it came the words were low, overly calm. Aziraphale got the distinct impression that was the wrong thing to say.

“Why the fuck would I be following you?” Aziraphale swallowed, the conversation was worse than the silence had been.

“I apologise, it’s been a rather stressful evening.”

“And? I don’t drive around in this thing, while wearing a kilt to follow someone. Especially someone who made it very clear they want nothing to do with me.” Aziraphale took in Crowley’s appearance. Besides a kilt that, now Aziraphale was looking revealed a frankly unfair amount of leg, Crowley was wearing socks currently scrunched around his ankles and a white shirt that was just damp enough to cling without being transparent. There was a set of bagpipes sticking out of the back seat along with other tartan paraphernalia. Crowley had been heading out to work. Aziraphale wasn’t certain how dressing up with the most hated instrument on the planet was going to aid Crowley in whatever he was up to, but he wouldn’t have put it on for following Aziraphale.

“I am sorry.” No response came, but the tension in Crowley’s jaw eased slightly. “I am. I shouldn’t have assumed the worst. Especially when you’re going out the way to be of assistance.” Aziraphale wanted to clarify that he wanted lots to do with Crowley, not all of it entirely appropriate but even more than that, he didn’t want to die in central London five minutes from his home in a fiery crash. After what seemed like hours, he glanced at Aziraphale clearly about to respond but hesitated, his gaze dropping to fiddle with the CD player instead.

“Crowley, watch the road!”

Crowley folded into the corner of the elevator. This was awful. Aziraphale had treated him like shit and at the first possible chance Crowley had jumped at the chance to help. Which apparently meant cancelling plans he made weeks ago, picking him up in the London equivalent of a snowstorm, and showing him where he lived. Completely ignoring the everything he had said including the implication that Crowley had been following him. Worse, Crowley hadn’t even paused before inviting Aziraphale to his flat. The whole situation was ridiculous, he was supposed to be past all the stupid learnt behaviour stuff. At the rate he was going he would be offering to replace the soggy books and hand over his life savings to cover the inconvenience. Not that Crowley had savings, he had cards connected to corporate accounts that were overseen by lazy accounting departments.

But it was the right thing to do, helping Aziraphale. Would he have stopped for a random stranger? Probably not. That didn’t mean it was a weird response to get Aziraphale to talk to him. He was just trying to make sure Newt and Anathema didn’t have an awkward wedding. Did he miss Aziraphale? Yes. Was he about to go out of his way to try to spend time with him? Possibly. That didn’t mean he was about to forget exactly where Aziraphale stood on their friendship. But he could give it a chance. Standing next to Aziraphale, in what Crowley suspected was the worlds slowest escalator,[15] Crowley fixed his gaze at the slowly increasing numbers. He was not going to watch Aziraphale fuss over his books. If nothing else, he didn’t trust himself not to do something stupid.

Aziraphale trailed after Crowley as he unlocked the door. He hadn’t looked up from the books yet, not that Crowley really expected anything else.

"What do you need?” Aziraphale’s gaze snapped up as though he had completely forgotten Crowley was there. That probably wasn’t personal, Crowley could have been a giant snake and Aziraphale would just request he didn’t eat the books. “For the books, I mean."

"Oh, erm. I don’t suppose you have a,” Aziraphale deflated as he looked around Crowley’s flat. “No of course not. I don’t even have one of those.” Crowley didn’t have the first idea of how to sort out books that were dropped in a puddle. It had been years since he had read an actual book. Putting them in a bowl filled with rice was probably not going to work.

“I have kitchen paper?”

“It can go underneath I suppose. I need somewhere to put them. Could I perhaps borrow a fan? If you have one. I have an old dehumidifier at the shop, but any air movement would help.”

“Got it.” Thank _Somebody_ , Crowley had felt bad about the abandoned plants. He’d spoilt the ones that survived more than they probably deserved. And if maintaining rainforest levels of moisture was less ideal for the cacti originally bound for Aziraphale’s shop then that was an unfortunate coincidence.

“How many you want?” Crowley mentally weighed up the chances of being able to head out and buy more if needed.[16]

“Oh, I didn’t expect you to actually,” Aziraphale had a puddle accumulating at his feet. Probably so one of them could slip and the other would have to help them. The universe was conspiring, and Crowley officially wanted no part in it.[17] He was helping Aziraphale because it was the less shit thing to do. Save the books and try not to let Aziraphale freeze to death. In that order, because in no possible universe would Crowley convince Aziraphale to stop imitating an ice lolly until the books were okay. If they managed to end up on speaking terms that would be a benefit but there wasn’t much point in hoping for that.

“Plants need humidity control.”

“Plants?”

“We can use the office, it’s the smallest room.” Crowley had debated moving the plants into the office when he returned to London since they fit in there now. In the end he decided the extra space and empty pots would be a visual reminder for the rest to keep standards high. Smaller spaces would probably work better for the books though. Aziraphale carefully propped up the books on the desk, while Crowley turned the office into a good approximation of a desert.

“It working?”

“It should be. The desiccated air pulls the moisture from the books. I suspect most of the damage has been countered.” Crowley was caught off guard as Aziraphale turned and fucking beamed at him. “Thank you, my dear.” Crowley found himself returning the smile without thinking.

A few seconds passed before Crowley realised he should be replying, not just blankly smiling at Aziraphale.

“I, right. The bathroom.” Satan, he wasn’t even managing sentences. “I, there’s towels if you wanted to warm up and shower or anything. Bath too, in the bathroom.” Crowley clenched his teeth together, nowhere near soon enough not to look like a complete idiot but at least he hadn’t started listing toiletries. It was that smile. Aziraphale had smiled at him and Crowley hadn’t been prepared in the slightest.

“Oh, I wouldn't want to inconvenience you.”

“Ang- Aziraphale, it's fine. You're here, might as well not die of hypothermia.” Crowley was going to go back in time and throttle himself. It was that or die of embarrassment. Calling him Angel had been vaguely inappropriate when Aziraphale was spending time with him voluntarily.

“That's very kind, unfortunately I don’t have a change of clothes with me.”

“I mean that’s not,” Crowley managed to cut himself off before he even realised what he was about to say. Hopefully Aziraphale was still too preoccupied with the fate of the books to notice. “One minute.” It was going to look bad, Crowley having clothes for Aziraphale to wear. It would be a vast improvement on suggesting that Aziraphale was more than welcome to not wear clothes.[18] He slipped a bit in the stupid socks he still hadn’t taken off but managed not to fall over, the universe could go fuck itself.

Had it always been such a minefield to speak with Aziraphale? Crowley didn’t remember a constant struggle between saying every inappropriate thought that came into his head and being so tongue-tied the only answer was to get a sword and cut it in half. Not that Crowley could actually tie his tongue in a knot.[19]

Crowley managed to retrieve and hand over the neatly folded pyjamas without any comments that would need be broadcast post-watershed. Aziraphale took the flannel pyjamas and mercifully did not comment. It was weird. Crowley knew it was weird. He really needed Aziraphale to not point out that it was fucking weird. It was weird that he had a pair of mildly tartan pyjamas in Aziraphale’s size. In his flat, where Aziraphale had never been. After not speaking for the best part of a year.

“I’m going to go, drink. Bathroom through there, just water and usual stuff.” Aziraphale’s smile was polite, he didn’t even comment before he followed Crowley’s gesture. Crowley managed to walk himself to the kitchen without tripping up which given how the rest of his evening was going was worth celebrating. Making himself sound marginally like an alcoholic, forgetting how to talk coherently, and whatever ridiculous expression he had made when Aziraphale smiled at him definitely outweighed basic walking skills, but Crowley was awarding bonus points for not pledging eternal servitude.

Aziraphale locked the bathroom door and let out far more breath than he remembered taking in. They hadn’t spoken in months; they hadn’t even parted on neutral terms, let alone good ones. Yet Crowley had, seemingly without hesitation, cancelled his plans, brough Aziraphale to his flat, and set up a better book drying room than Aziraphale could have managed had he been able to get into the shop. He hadn’t even asked Aziraphale to apologise, just decided he was going to help. It had also been a stark reminder of how far past _fond_ his feelings for Crowley reached.

Crowley, who was more nervous than Aziraphale had ever seen him. Aziraphale hadn’t noticed it immediately,[20] but once things had calmed down Crowley seemed to be struggling to deal with Aziraphale being there. Crowley was uncomfortable with the whole situation. He probably hadn’t anticipated stopping to get Aziraphale out of the cold would escalate to their current situation. There was a good chance he hadn’t even wanted Aziraphale to know where he lived. He’d never mentioned it was practically round the corner from the shop. Aziraphale should probably have offered to leave and retrieve the books in the morning. But Crowley had pushed some pyjamas into his hands and sent him to warm up in the shower. Aziraphale tried not to read too much into being handed night clothes, he was not going to assume Crowley would let him spend the night. Aziraphale would just need to wait and see what Crowley actually said. Granted, if that were to leave immediately, Aziraphale would be disappointed. He would have to make sure to apologise before it looked like Crowley was working up courage to throw him out. Although that would probably make it seem like Aziraphale was angling to stay longer. Crowley looked incredibly uncomfortable with Aziraphale being there. The book he had read on body language hadn’t covered stumbling over words, but nervous probably covered it.

Crowley’s bathroom, heated floors warming up since Aziraphale had entered, made Aziraphale own look like it hadn’t been updated in decades. An inordinate amount of fluffy towels,[21] multiple fancy cupboards full of bath products Aziraphale was unable to identify, and a frankly intimidating number of knobs and dials for the shower suggested this was not the guest bathroom. Aziraphale wasn’t sure why he had assumed Crowley would have a guest bathroom. Surely a flat of this size was designed for multiple people, there was certainly room for a second bathroom. On the assumption that Crowley was letting him use the only bathroom first, Aziraphale decided a fast shower was in order. Crowley was less cold than Aziraphale, but he would probably welcome a chance to warm up himself. That plan hit a stumbling block when Aziraphale tried to turn the shower on. He managed to spray water over most of the floor, two walls, the mirror, and seemingly everywhere but on himself. At least there were enough towels.

The pyjamas fit, which suggested they were intended for Aziraphale. Or at least, not for Crowley himself.[22] The soggy areas where they had been splashed by the shower weren’t ideal, but that wasn’t entirely his fault, the trousers were too long and hung off the shelf too much. They’d probably be the right length for Crowley legs. The second the books were set up to dry Aziraphale’s mind had tracked straight back to the lack of trousers on said legs. His vigilance against staring at them had only really lapsed when Crowley turned to go retrieve the pyjamas, he had slipped in his falling-down socks and while Crowley had managed to regain his balance, he had also exposed rather a lot more thigh than Aziraphale had been prepared for.

Which was definitely not a line of thinking Aziraphale should have been exploring in Crowley’s bathroom, especially if he wanted to leave said bathroom any time soon. Aziraphale slipped out of the bathroom to find Crowley playing on his phone. He was hugging a bundle of black clothing, presumably not another kilt at least. Aziraphale wasn’t convinced he wouldn’t be caught staring if Crowley didn’t change.

“Look around if you want, have a snoop. I’m going to-” whatever Crowley was going to do was left unstated as he slipped into the bathroom and hastily closed the door.

Aziraphale tried to limit his looking around to the more obvious parts of the flat. Everything seemed chosen to give away nothing about the flat’s occupant. With a few notable exceptions. Aziraphale hadn’t fully registered Crowley’s comments about keeping plants earlier, the room full of leafage and what Aziraphale decided were plant related items was hard not to notice. Aziraphale knew nothing about plants, he was more familiar with the end products be that paper or vegetables, but these were clearly cared for. There didn’t seem to be a single leaf out of place, not that Aziraphale was sure where leaves were supposed to be. [23]

A while later, Crowley appeared next to him looking much warmer and bundled into several large jumpers and, mercifully, a pair of trousers. He seemed more relaxed, probably only apprehensive rather than his earlier panicked state.

“I didn’t know you were phytophilous, my dear.” Crowley shook his head,

“I need to reinstall that word app.”

“You’re fond of plants. I don’t know why I was surprised; you really are very sweet.” Crowley turned crimson.

“’m not.”

“You are, like that dessert wine we had, or was it mead? Something honey like anyway.” Crowley froze, he looked at Aziraphale as if he had just been punched. All too late Aziraphale recalled particular accusation Crowley had clearly just remembered. Aziraphale’s cheeks warmed as he looked around desperately for a change in topic.

“I’ll go check on the books.” Crowley nodded but didn’t follow. Aziraphale scolded himself, it would have been no trouble to apologise rather than running away. He did check the books though, so it’s wasn’t only an excuse to leave. Aziraphale had run through that argument endlessly over the months. Looking for something he could have said or done, something that would have fixed everything. He had forgotten the honeytrap comment, and the insinuation that Crowley would have gone so far for a job. Crowley it seemed, hadn’t forgotten. Aziraphale ignored the urge to hide in ambiguity. He _knew_ Crowley wouldn’t have forgotten a single word of it. Even if Aziraphale had blocked out the more uncomfortable moments, he couldn’t pretend Crowley had done the same. Aziraphale wasn’t surprised that when Crowley trailed into the office a few minutes later he had found his glasses. His entire frame was tense, arms crossed almost daring Aziraphale to say something. Aziraphale couldn’t think where to begin.

“Crowley, that’s,” Aziraphale hadn’t noticed the sketch when they had been in the office earlier. “That can’t be genuine.” Crowley raised his eyebrows and grinned,

“Nah, course not.” Aziraphale looked back at the sketch. There was no possible way Crowley could have a genuine sketch of the Mona Lisa.

And yet. “Drink? I have,” Aziraphale followed Crowley as he wandered back to the kitchen, “spirits mostly.”

“That would be lovely.”

It was not lovely. It was odd. Silent. Aziraphale managed most of his drink before forcing himself to break it. While his curiosity had been threatening to spill out since he had set the books to dry, the contents of his drink being mostly vodka probably helped things along.

“How have you been? Where have you been? I haven’t heard about a single awful fundraiser being ruined since,” Aziraphale trailed off. Crowley sipped at his own drink apparently not fazed by the questions.

“Oh, here and there. I was here and then,”

“There?”

“Thereabouts.”

“You don’t need to tell me.”

“I know.”

The third drink actually helped, Crowley had asked how he knew Anathema, and while Aziraphale was fairly sure Crowley already knew, it was a safe topic. Falling into their usual bickering took all of three minutes. There was a lull and before he could second guess himself, Aziraphale pounced on the opportunity. It was a risk, but he could always try again if Crowley didn’t take it well.

“Crowley, I’m sorry.” Crowley looked almost confused.

“That’s,”

“Crowley, I need to apologize." Aziraphale set his glass down, it was designed for gin but given the rest of Crowley's flat, he was half surprised a second glass of any kind was present.[24] "I assumed the worst of you. I was so scared of what my family would do if they suspected I had anything to do with the whole fiasco that I lashed out at you. It wasn’t entirely unfeasible that you. No, I’m not going to try to make excuses. Regardless of the situation, I had no right to say any of the things I said. You didn't deserve that."

"Found the card then?"

"I used it as a bookmark and forgot." Crowley rolled his eyes. He seemed to be watching Aziraphale over the rim of his glass. Suspicious, waiting to see where Aziraphale was going. Not ideal but also not unwarranted.

"Even if you had taken it, and looking back I can see that you wouldn't have done so.”

"I mean if nothing else, I wouldn't have been able to find it.”

 _“even if_ , I said things that I knew would hurt you and that's why I said them. And I am truly sorry for that."

"Right." Crowley’s muttered response was mostly addressed to his drink. That couldn’t be a good sign.

"I've been doing some reading, oh hush.”

“Did I say anything?”

“You were thinking loudly. What you said, about me sounding like Gabriel. I, you were right. My first instinct was to lash out, you didn’t deserve that.”

“Product of the environment. You learnt to fight dirty."

“I, yes I suppose that does summarise it quite well.”

“I get it. Your family thinks you had anything to do with it, and you lose everything.”

“Yes.”

“Made me feel like shit.” Crowley finished his drink and refilled it again. “Since we're being honest.”

“I am sorry.”

“You said that already.” The words snapped out followed by a grimace, possibly because Crowley had forgotten to refill any of the drink besides the vodka rather than regretting what he had said. “While we're doing,” Crowley gestured vaguely between them before taking a longer drink. “whatever this is. I'm sorry I insisted you believe me without giving you any reason to. I knew why you were worried.” The comment threw Aziraphale, none of his imagined apology speeches had included Crowley apologising, mostly because there wasn’t any need.[25]

“Crowley, you don’t need to apologise for expecting me to trust you.”

“Yeah, but-”

“You didn’t do anything wrong. Well, in terms of us anyway.”

“I just,” Crowley seemed lost. Or maybe confused, Aziraphale wasn’t certain his body language book was accurate when it came to Crowley. He didn’t stay still long enough for Aziraphale to remember any of it anyway.

“If you do want to apologise, I did get quite soaked by those sprinklers.” Whatever Crowley had been wrestling with settled immediately as he took a careful sip of his drink and stood up.

“Chinese? I can order in.”

“Sprinklers, Crowley?”

“You deserved that.”

“I see.”

Crowley had managed to scavenge cutlery if not plates when food arrived. Plastic cartons full of food along with several bottles of wine were dumped between them on the sofa. Aziraphale recognised the packaging, his favourite option for delivery. He would have written it off as a coincidence except Crowley had also chosen the food Aziraphale would usually order.[26] Aziraphale had debated mentioning it, but he suspected that wouldn’t be well received. The last thing he wanted to do was make Crowley feel more uncomfortable. Especially as he seemed to have relaxed once they had hit an approximation of normality. Granted the chair Aziraphale’s favoured in the bookshop was actually designed to be sat on, a trait Crowley’s sofa seemed to be lacking.

“Crowley this sofa is awful.” It was an understatement, Aziraphale had sat on more comfortable park benches. It was soft at first, but a second later the soft coverings hit the frame and none of the angles at avoided that were supposed to be achieved by the human spine.

“Yeah.” Crowley’s wriggling and curling seemed to wedge him into a horizontal position that still allowed him to drink. Aziraphale suspected achieving that required years of yoga or at least less stomach than he was currently equipped with.

“Where do you usually sit when people come over?”

“I don’t have guests.” Aziraphale frown. Crowley’s heartbreak at Aziraphale telling him they weren’t friends came sharply into focus. The guilt it brought with it was unwelcome but thoroughly deserved. He’d known. Not in that much clarity, but Aziraphale had known. In the entire time Aziraphale had known Crowley, he had never been busy if Aziraphale suggested he come to the bookshop. He had been working on occasion, or sleeping off a hangover, but he never had plans with other people.

“I’m very glad you made an exception.”

“Is yours not okay?” Crowley hadn’t eaten much since Aziraphale asked about the sofa and its crusade against humans sitting on it. He’d stabbed at it a bit but given up on it in favour of cradling his wine

“Hmm?” Crowley’s gaze snapped up to Aziraphale looking slightly guilty. “No, it’s fine.”

“You could have some of mine, it’s delightful.”

“Ngh.” Crowley sunk further into the sofa with the glass of wine his skin seemed to be trying to match.

Admitting defeat, Aziraphale snagged the rest of the noodles which were absolutely not authentic Chinese food but tasted excellent. He was rethinking his previous stance that the clothing change had made not staring at Crowley any easier. The jumper he was bundled in contrast with the pale skin of his neck exposing the Aziraphale was struggling not to stare. It was maddening, every time Crowley spoke, the muscle running the length of his neck twitched. There was a dip where it met Crowley’s collarbone and Aziraphale was not going to start thinking about it. The evening had gone far more smoothly than he had feared. He’d apologised, Crowley had seemed confused at that, but he had accepted it. If anything, Crowley seemed more nervous than Aziraphale. The fragile calm that had established once Crowley had ordered food was wearing down at an alarming rate and Aziraphale regretted mentioning the sofa at all. Crowley had grown quiet, he kept glancing towards Aziraphale and then away again every few seconds. Aziraphale managed not to mention it until Crowley nearly spilt wine over himself.

“Really Crowley. What is wrong?” Crowley turned red, probably as a result of the wine.

“Nothing. It’s fine, forgot your erm, linguistic gifts.” Aziraphale frown, that didn’t quite sound like a compliment.

“I didn’t mean to be overly verbose, my dear. I was just,”

“No, no that’s not what I meant.[27] Sorry. Really not what I meant. I’ll just.” Crowley looked at the floor. Aziraphale stared for longer than was probably polite. He had missed something. Something that was making Crowley feel uncomfortable. “Manchester. I was in Manchester for a while.” Aziraphale forced himself to not read too much into Crowley offering that up that as a way to change the topic.

“I’m glad you came back.” Crowley managed to curl himself further into the sofa.

“Yeah well, they put up the Christmas markets and they’re always awful. Someone offered me a gingerbread latte thing. They’re not drinkable, they’re for Instagram.”

Aziraphale nodded, he wasn’t sure exactly what Crowley was complaining about but that wasn’t new. A few minutes after finishing his food,[28] he decided to push his luck.

“I don't suppose you would like to stop by the shop tomorrow? I have some reds I've been meaning to try.”

“Can't.” the response was blunter than Aziraphale had been prepared for. Aziraphale bit down the disappointed sound he nearly made. Crowley had every right to not want to associate with him. One evening where they managed to be in the same room didn’t change what Aziraphale had done.

“Of course. I understand.” Crowley scrambled to face Aziraphale.

“I want to. I have plans, this guy is on holiday, and his friend housesitting has an app-, not important. I'm free Thursday?”

Aziraphale lunged across the sofa to hug Crowley. Crowley froze at the contact before hesitantly returning the gesture.

“Sorry, my dear. I missed you.”

Aziraphale considered the rubber duck quietly vibrating in his hand. At some point he had lost his handle on the evening.

They had eaten, and then drank more than was probably appropriate for a weeknight. Then Crowley had offered to let Aziraphale stay the night. It had made sense, they had been drinking, it was late, and Crowley could fix the lock the following day. Aziraphale had protested at putting Crowley out of his own bed but conceded in the end.[29] Crowley had grabbed medication and a blanket and then left Aziraphale in his bedroom. Granted Crowley’s bedroom was much less desirable without Crowley himself in it, but Aziraphale could appreciate how much trust Crowley was showing him. He didn’t go looking for Crowley’s sex toy collection. Not initially anyway. He more stumbled upon it, and then spent rather longer exploring it than was probably polite.

The first slip, if it could be called that, was when Aziraphale tried to work out how to turn off the bedside lights.[30] That had led to him following the lead inside the bedside table. Granted the lead didn’t go into the drawer, but it was jammed in the side, so Aziraphale needed to open it for entirely innocuous reasons.

Crowley’s entire flat was organised, almost empty. The same could not be said for the drawer. Medication, a lot of it. All prescribed to Crowley, which was more surprising than it probably should have been. Aziraphale didn’t mean to read the information leaflets shoved in alongside the half empty packets. He had glanced over one to see what it was and got drawn it. There was a pattern, once Aziraphale had stopped checking who the tablets were prescribed for and watched the dates. Different tablets, years of changes. The most recent ones were shoved together, no open packets but even without glancing over the information sheet Aziraphale could tell they would be more of the same. Anti-depressant, anti-anxiety, even antihistamines. The side effect bingo sheet[31] had been amusing but was also what made Aziraphale place everything very carefully back where it had been and close the drawer.

He could justify looking through the drawer as wanting to know more about Crowley, it wasn’t like Aziraphale could just do a google search. Although the plant blog was closer to the mark than he had initially suspected. Crowley had said Aziraphale could snoop through the flat, but that probably didn’t include his bedroom. It almost certainly didn’t involve Aziraphale finding out exactly which rather personal side effects of medication he had to deal with. Aziraphale unplugged the lamps and settled down to sleep.

Which would have been the end of things, had Aziraphale not been rather cold.

Crowley had grabbed a blanket from the bed on his way out of the bedroom. There was a duvet, but it was still chillier than Aziraphale had expected given Crowley’s aversion to the cold.[32] Aziraphale had been lucky in finding a blanket in Crowley’s wardrobe. It looked suspiciously like one that had been in the bookshop but disappeared the previous year. Mission successful, Aziraphale had pulled the blanket out of the wardrobe. And toppled over a cardboard box sending the contents scattering over the floor. Aziraphale waited a minute for Crowley to open the door and check everything was okay. When that didn’t happen, Aziraphale found the main light switch and turned it on so he could clear up. Which was when he found the plastic duck. It looked to belong in the bathroom until he squeezed it too hard and it started to buzz in his hand.

After the initial shock, and the struggle to retrieve it from under the bed, Aziraphale managed to turn the duck off.[33] His confusion was added to by the objects in the box that he did recognise. Crowley had, what Aziraphale would consider, a rather large quantity of dildos. Alongside several more that Aziraphale suspected also fit in that category but he couldn’t be absolutely sure. For a start, when it came to such _pleasure apparatus_ the shops in SoHo tended to stick to black, some awful attempts at skin colours, and purple.[34]

Then there was the rest of it.

Aziraphale eventually sorted the box contents into four piles. There were the easily identifiable items which were a mix of very pretty and worrying. Aziraphale definitely had absolutely no intention of trying to track down and purchase some of the more interesting butt plugs. He was just tidying so he could put everything back. The fact that he was tidying Crowley’s sex toys was completely incidental. The alternative of leaving them split over the floor would definitely be worse. Hence, tidying. And a spot of contemplating.

The pile of rope had made its own category at first, with other cuffs hovering on the edges. Then the pile of what Aziraphale had decided were some kind of wearable items[35] ended up being added to it when Aziraphale found some rope tied through a harness decided against untying it.

Which left a pile of implements that looked like they would be more useful in a fight than during sex and the pile that Aziraphale couldn’t even begin to understand. The duck was buzzing away happily in the last pile.

A quick check of where in the wardrobe the box had fallen from revealed that Crowley’s collection spanned two more boxes and what had, at first glance, looked like a poster tube. Aziraphale would admit to being something of a hedonist, he’d been accused of far worse. Yet it seemed Crowley had devoted far more time to sexual pleasure than Aziraphale had.

The sound of a door closing in the flat startled Aziraphale for a second before he realised just how bad it would look if Crowley decided he needed something from the bedroom. Aziraphale was sat on the floor, cataloguing Crowley’s sex implements.[36] Snooping through Crowley’s medication had been bad, this was probably worse.

Maybe.

Both were bad enough without needing the comparison. Aziraphale very carefully turned off the duck and placed everything back in the box. He would just get some sleep and then put the blanket back in the morning. Crowley didn’t need to know Aziraphale had spent almost an hour weighing up such questions as whether an anal hook was insertable or wearable. In the same way that Aziraphale could pretend he didn’t know that at some point, presumably as an inside joke, Crowley had acquired not only a vibrating rubber duck but also a rubber duck gag _and_ a bath plug gag.[37] Although it did put some of the duck comments into perspective.

Crowley fell off the sofa when he woke up. Which wasn’t his favourite way to start the day. Neither was the hangover but that was more usual. After an hour of coming to grips with reality, and not throwing up, he settled for watching bad television until Aziraphale left. He was expecting it to be awkward. He was not expecting Aziraphale to be quite so _off_. Darting into the bathroom to get dressed and trying to escape as fast as possible, Crowley could understand that. It wasn’t like Aziraphale was there by choice. Telling Crowley not to worry about the broken lock at the bookshop, that felt a bit like Aziraphale wanted to avoid seeing him. It was the fact that Aziraphale left the flat and at least started to go down in the elevator before remembering the books set sirens off in Crowley’s head. He had no idea what was wrong, but something very clearly was if Aziraphale forgot about the books.

Aziraphale had brushed off his concern while looking like he was trying to be caught lying. Satan, he was a terrible liar. But Crowley wasn’t about to push. He would go round on Thursday; they could have a drink and if it were as awful as that morning had been, he could just not go back. Theoretically. He would go back. Crowley was bad at letting things go.

Crowley was also not letting go of the nagging worry that he had done something wrong. Besides the bit where he almost pointed out the near-sexual nature of Aziraphale’s responses to food. Or any of the rest of the evening. It had been a train wreck. At least Aziraphale’s early disappearance meant his bed was free for sleeping through most of the afternoon. The pillow smelt as it usually did, because Aziraphale had used Crowley’s shampoo and people don’t leave person smells on fabrics. But still. The shop blanket he had stolen at some point was neatly folded on the foot of the bed, which didn’t make sense with the heating turned off but Aziraphale was allowed his quirks. Even if they included making the room too cold and then needing more warmth. Crowley didn’t even realise the significance of the duck when he saw it. There was a duck in the bathroom after all, it had probably come from there. Except it was half under the wardrobe. Crowley hauled himself to his feet to go investigate. After a minute of looking between the duck – yellow – and the box in his wardrobe – uncovered – Crowley flopped back onto his bed and burst out laughing. No wonder Aziraphale had seemed so flustered.

* * *

[1] Somewhere. He wasn’t sure what bank they were in, or where the bank books were, but they had been doing quite nicely last time he checked.

[2] She had found out Gabriel was going to buy Aziraphale out and arrived ten minutes earlier with a better deal. In the end, Gabriel had given up trying to outbid her and Aziraphale ended up with very favourable terms for the exchange.

[3] Aziraphale understood all the concepts, he had just never needed to apply them outside of a maths lesson.

[4] Unfortunately, the willingness of Aziraphale to part with a book and its sale value did not correlate well.

[5] A certain percentage of all trains in the UK are required to be delayed. It’s traditional. The exact percentage depends on how many alternate trains there are, and how many passengers have urgent appointments, alongside other factors. 

[6] Admittedly, in the UK this takes less snow than expected. Despite snow hitting at least some of the country every winter, at the first rumour of a snowdrop all the trains, buses, and coaches – as well as anything else that would be convenient to avoid being stuck outside in the snow - stop working. This is particularly impressive as the same thing happens when there is warm weather. The only weather the UK can keep its transport systems running for is a light drizzle.

[7] The windows were heavily fogged so Aziraphale was fairly certain if it had hit the window screen, he would have been improving the visibility.

[8] He also didn’t leave it unlocked most of the time he was there. It discouraged customers as well as criminals.

[9] He had deleted the contact and readded it three times in the weeks following their argument before Michael’s visit. After which, he deleted the contact and the messages he had been getting the number from.

[10] Aziraphale’s recollection was correct. It was a UK mobile number, all of which, begin 07. It’s the next nine digits that are the tricky bit.

[11] Granted, Aziraphale felt this was the most acceptable part of the hallucination.

[12] Wearing a kilt traditionally is one of the better traditions of the UK.* It is bested only by old ladies using walking sticks to check.

*Not uncoincidentally, it’s Scottish.

[13] Crowley’s Bentley only ever played Queen songs. This was due to the CD player installed by the previous owner being broken and unable to eject the disk currently inside. While Crowley used this problem to haggle on price, he had yet to see any reason to fix it.

[14] For a start they were in his car.

[15] Not that Crowley had ever noticed the speed previously.

[16] The answer was quickly redacted, as was all evidence Crowley had even contemplated the question.

[17] As official stances go, this was – as is often the case – a complete lie.

[18] In response if not result.

[19] Crowley felt it was a close thing limited only by human anatomy and not a lack of skill or effort on his part.

[20] He was distracted by the books.

[21] Black.

[22] Although the tartan had given that much away.

[23] He was willing to hazard that they should be attached to the plant.

[24] Aziraphale had been delighted to find that, in some circumstances, gin glasses were an improvement on wine glasses in that they needed refilling less.

[25] Arguable there was also not a need for it to end up in bed either but Aziraphale imagination was very keen on that outcome, regardless of how unlikely it was.

[26] Crowley had hit the ‘re-order’ button from a previous occasion and just changed the address. He did, in fact, remember Aziraphale’s order, but that wasn’t the point.

[27] Crowley had missed Aziraphale. He was not going to explain that included forgetting just how much Aziraphale’s particularly audible enjoyment food affected him.

[28] Except about half the food ordered. The whole point of take away is the leftovers the following day.

[29] The alternative was the sofa.

[30] He had accidentally turned them on while getting into bed.

[31] A great game to play when changing psychoactive medication. Guess the side effects before titrating up to that effective dose. Compare with friends. Question why more funding isn’t invested in less shit medication for mental illnesses.

[32] Aziraphale had turned the heating in the bedroom down during his attempts to turn off the lights.

[33] And then on again, just to check it was in fact a vibrating duck and not just a drunk Aziraphale. 

[34] Dildo purple is a shade recognised by many people, even if they wouldn’t admit to knowing it.

[35] The straps were confusing. Especially in the cases where it seemed to be nothing but strap. Aziraphale caught himself trying to work out how they would fit on him several times.

[36] The word toys seemed thoroughly unsuitable to some of the items.

[37] The latter two took some time to identify.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well that was, long. The next chapter will probably be shorter than this one. Maybe.  
> Hopefully people are still enjoying this, it's not exactly the short amusing fic I had planned initially. 
> 
> Mraowface: take your crumbs elsewhere.


	12. Revelations

Most of a pack of custard creams later, Aziraphale was feeling more like himself and less like a glass of whiskey. He was also feeling incredibly guilty that Crowley had to deal with him getting so drunk in the first place. Crowley sat watching him, which would have been unnerving if he hadn’t looked exhausted.

“I am sorry, I didn’t mean to get in such a state. It’s been a rather trying weekend.”

“Join the club.” The sharp tone hit Aziraphale without warning. He couldn’t face arguing with Crowley, or at least he couldn’t face Crowley being angry at him.

“Please don’t.”

“Don’t what? Expect you to help sort out this mess? I get you’re upset about all this but fucking off and leaving me to try to fix everything is a dick move.”

“I didn’t say I wouldn’t help.”

“Yes, because you disappearing to fuck knows where was so helpful.” Crowley had grown louder but the vitriol had lessened.

“Just leave it Crowley, okay? We can deal with this tomorrow and then you won’t have to worry about it.”

“I’m not worried about this!” Crowley gestured frantically between them. “This we can sort out. I’m worried about your family finding out and disowning you. I’m worried about my lot hearing about it!”

Aziraphale sat for a minute not responding, Crowley flopped onto the bed, apparently giving in to the need to be dramatic. Aziraphale waited another minute on principle. And to re-organise his alcohol-fuzzed thoughts. Something Crowley had said, the way he had said it was humming away in Aziraphale’s brain.

“You said that I was upset.”

“Well yeah. I don’t think either of us expected to wake up married.”

“No, I mean you said I would be upset. Not that you were.” Aziraphale’s had no idea if he were imagining the small bubble of hope that had nudged its way into his head, but things could hardly get worse. “You haven’t actually said anything about how you feel about this at all. Would I be right in thinking that means you yourself aren’t upset?” Crowley was oddly still. “Because if that is the case then I think I deserve to know.”

“That’s not,” Crowley moved from the bed, trying to escape the immediate vicinity even if he couldn’t escape the conversation. He ended up back to the wall about as far from Aziraphale as he could get.

“I told Gabriel that I got married to not call me ever again.” The blood drained from Crowley’s face.

“You told,”

“It’s okay. I know at some point I’ll have to explain it. I just wanted to shut him up.”

“Your family know that,” Crowley’s complexion passed pale and was veering straight towards imminent panic attack territory. “Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.” Crowley was shaking as he pulled out his phone.

“Crowley it’s fine.”

“It’s not fine. If your lot know then my lot will and fuck.” Aziraphale frowned.

“Does that matter? I mean, it’s not like it’s any of their business.” The look Crowley returned signalled that it absolutely did matter and that Aziraphale was stupid for not seeing that.

“I can explain. It’s not like you really work there.”

“I don’t work with them at all now, I sold my stake in the company.”

“That’s not, what?”

“Well traded it really. My interest in the company in exchange for full sole ownership of the bookshop.” Crowley looked sick; he shook his head slightly.

“I’ve, you can’t do that.”

“It’s done. Has been for a while now, months.”

“But you, no wait, I. Months?”

“Months.”

“Why?”

“I realised you were right.” Crowley didn’t respond.

“You said I sounded like my brother, and then a while later I realised you were right and haven’t seen them since. Why did you think I was doing my own taxes?”

“I just never thought you would actually get out. I mean, I.” Crowley’s hands nervous shaking seemed to have spread to his whole body.

“Crowley?”

“Need to, phone, right. Number. Fuck.” He was typing something, Aziraphale wasn’t sure what. Presumably checking what Aziraphale had told him or messaging somebody.

“Crowley?”

“Hold that thought I need to, shit.” Crowley’s fingers finished flying across his phone. He took a breath before looking up at Aziraphale.

“So I was right that you do have feelings for me, Crowley? Because if that is the case, I think I deserve to know.”

* * *

Anathema had seemed far too chipper over the phone when Aziraphale had invited her to visit. Far beyond her usual happiness to catch up and dig through the books. She hadn’t even questioned how last minute the invitation was before jumping on the train.[1] She didn’t bother waiting for him to sit down before the grilling started.

“So, Crowley.” Her grin was pure mischief and Aziraphale realised what he had missed at the restaurant.

“You knew.”

“I knew you’d recognise him. Red hair, snake tattoo, glasses. I nearly called him party guy when Newt introduced him.”

“Right, yes I suppose I did describe him once or twice.” Anathema’s mouth twitched into a grin.

“You didn’t mention you saw him again.”

“No, well I didn’t really expect to. Then it didn’t seem like there was much to mention.”

“I knew you were seeing somebody.”

“We weren’t!” Aziraphale desperately wished he had made his tea to Crowley’s usual recipe. [2] He wasn’t sure why it was difficult to talk about Crowley. All the secrecy their friendship had begun under lingered even now it wasn’t needed. “We were friends, it was nice. And then I made a mess of everything.” Anathema sipped her tea and waited. Aziraphale folded almost immediately.[3] “We had a disagreement and fell out.”

“Disagreement?” Aziraphale hadn’t really expected rephrasing the same response to satisfy Anathema’s curiosity.

“I thought he had used me to get access to the company. My ID card went missing after he had asked to borrow it. He denied it but I accused him of faking the entire friendship. I told him we weren’t friends and he just left.”

“When was this?”

“About nine months ago. I saw him at that awful Christian values benefit my family insisted on dragging me to every year. He was there pretending to be a nun and helped me leave early. We’d been friends since then.”

“I mean that’s pretty bad.” Aziraphale nodded. Pretty bad was generous. It certainly didn’t cover half of what Aziraphale had said.

“I know. I behaved awfully. I did apologise.”

“After the restaurant? Did he come round?”

“No, I thought he would. Or that he would call.” Anathema deflated slightly.

“We didn’t hear from him for weeks. I think seeing you threw him a bit.” Aziraphale added another item to the list of things he needed to work out how to apologise for. Crowley probably thought Aziraphale was going to discourage Newt and Anathema from spending time with him. Why would Crowley believe Aziraphale would do anything else?

“It certainly threw me. Some warning would have been appreciated.”

“I didn’t know you had a weird friend break up. I thought I was helping you meet the hot guy you got all flustered over months ago.”

“Yes, well. He helped when I was locked out, our paths crossed. I apologised for accusing him of taking my ID card.”

“Fate.”

“No, I think it was just a main road.”

“Oh, come on Aziraphale. Fate, God,[4] whatever you want to call it.”

“While her ways are ineffable, I doubt they include kilts and a lack of underwear.”

“Sure. Wait, no underwear?”

“He was surprised that I apologised. How awful does he think I am that he wasn’t expecting me to say I was sorry?” The hurt that bubbled through into his question surprised Aziraphale.

“I don’t think it’s that.”

“You didn’t see him. And I treated him terribly. I accused him of following me when he stopped to help. He stopped to help me in the snow after I said he took my ID card, after I accused him of trying to half-seduce me so he could get the ID card.[5] What kind of person says things like that to their friend?”

“A scared one with a terrible family.”

Anathema aimed a worryingly sincere smile at him. “Look Aziraphale, Crowley seems like a generally,” Aziraphale could almost see her discarding the words good, kind, and nice, “ _reasonable_ person, but he’s clearly been through some shit.”

“Did he tell you about any of it?”

“No, no. His aura is all,” Anathema gestured wildly for a second. Aziraphale wasn’t certain what she was trying to describe but it did somehow remind him of Crowley’s approach to conversations. “He doesn’t really talk about himself at all. Newt and I only know his name because Newt lived opposite his therapist.” Aziraphale had not expected Madame Tracey, as Newt had referred to her as during several rather revealing anecdotes, to also be a therapist. Although it was London so a woman having several jobs made sense given the frankly ridiculous rental market.

“That doesn’t,”

“Aziraphale how many people do you think apologised after they hurt him?”

“I don’t, oh.” Aziraphale stared at his tea while his mind silently refiled Crowley’s response to his apology. Crowley hadn’t been expecting an apology because he didn’t get them. It wasn’t about Aziraphale at all, or not as much as he had feared. Crowley had been confused that Aziraphale had bothered to apologise, not because of Aziraphale but because of all the others he had deserve but never received.

“He’s coming to the shop tomorrow.”

“Surely that’s a good thing?”

“Is it? I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. I’ve missed him terribly.”

“Then tell him that.”

“But, I mean,” Aziraphale frown, he couldn’t summarize the gulf that stood between his current relationship with Crowley and the one they’d had before, let alone the one he would like to have.

“Oh shit, you still like him!”

“You would say that you wanted me to send him suggestive vegetables before you even met him.”

“You do though.”

“I shouldn’t think that matters.” Anathema reached across and moved the biscuits, the biscuits Aziraphale had provided, out of his reach.

“Spill.”

“I, well I wanted to but,”

“Who could blame you I mean, look at the guy.”

“I did. That was the problem.” Aziraphale scooted into a more biscuit adjacent seat. “It would have been a bad idea. I told you my last birthday was terrible.”

“Family meal? Scotland? Something about balloons.”

“Yes, well I may have been slightly indiscreet about my feelings towards Crowley.” Anathema had no right to look so delighted.

“And?”

“And I kissed him. He told me I was drunk. I rather embarrassed myself by crying about it.”

“I’m sure it wasn’t that bad.”

“It was. He dodged a few attempts which I don’t think he actually noticed. And then I just launched myself at him like I,”

“Like you had feelings for him.”

“Feelings and no self-control.” Aziraphale grasped for a different topic. “I wasn’t aware Crowley had a therapist.” Anathema showed pity and didn’t call Aziraphale on the embarrassingly obvious jump.

“We’re guessing. She also hosts seances and has a collection of canes.”

“I mean Crowley does have,” Aziraphale shook his head. “No, you’re right. Therapist would make the most sense.”

“I am, and you’re trying to change the subject. What happened? Did he say anything?”

“He was lovely about it. Just kept saying I was drunk and wouldn’t want to do that sober.”

“Of course he was.”

“It just made it worse. I mean I know I’m not exactly,”

"Aziraphale, you were drunk.”

“Yes, I know. I would never have been that stupid sober.”

“No, I mean that you were drunk. You were upset and drunk. I bet Crowley didn’t want to take advantage.”

“He wouldn’t have been.”

“Wouldn’t he?”

“Well, I, maybe. It wasn’t anything I wouldn’t have wanted to do sober.”

“You should tell him that.”

“No!” Aziraphale sat back slightly, he hadn’t meant to raise his voice. He knew Anathema wouldn’t say anything to Crowley. But the idea of having a conversation like that with Crowley was horrifying. It had been bad enough having Crowley turn him down due to the amount of wine they had drunk. Without that as an excuse it would be infinitely worse. Crowley knew Aziraphale found him attractive, it wasn’t as though he had ever managed to hide that. Even if in some strange fantasy world Crowley did want Aziraphale, then he would know soon enough. The slightly terrifying situation with Crowley’s previous company was no longer an issue since Aziraphale had cut ties with his family. He would just have to wait and not get his hopes up.

“No, that’s not necessary. Crowley knows how I feel. If he wanted anything like that, I’m sure he would let me know.”

**

Crowley hadn’t exactly been expecting anything to have changed at the bookshop. The whole place seemed to be stuck in a time loop from a few centuries before it was even opened. The sofa hadn’t moved, the coaster he used once Aziraphale had pointed out that he didn’t want rings on his table _thank you Crowley_ , was placed about where it usually lived. The books were all still there. Presumably. Crowley had no intention of checking.[6] The whole building was as it had ever been. Which was why the scene unfolding in the small kitchen was so baffling.

“Since when you do cook?” Cooking was generous. Aziraphale was burning something Crowley couldn’t identify. It would need to be less of a charred husk before Crowley was confident in identifying it as food.

“I got caught in a book. You know how it is.”

“Not really.” Crowley was surprised that the fire alarms weren’t blaring before he remembered that there were no smoke alarms in the bonfire the bookshop clearly aspired to become. “Angel, why are you cooking?”

“I decided to dine out less.”

“But you love going out for food.”

“Yes, my dear. However, if I go out less it’s more of a treat when I do. It’s not a hardship to make food myself a bit more.”

“I wasn’t aware charcoal counted as food.”

“Luckily, I didn’t make any for you.” Crowley raised his eyebrows and flopped back onto the sofa. If Aziraphale wanted to eat the remnants of a particularly good fire that was nothing to do with him. It definitely wasn’t something worth risking the still fresh peace they had established.

Except Crowley was terrible at leaving things alone. On its own, the cooking could have been an urge that Aziraphale had decided to give into and would hopefully be over soon. Except Aziraphale had mentioned going out for food as a treat, and Crowley was fairly sure Aziraphale’s hedonistic tendencies included treating himself whenever possible. Unless that had abated that much while they had been apart. It wasn’t much alone, maybe Crowley had encouraged Aziraphale to do so a bit more than he should, he had always been an excellent enabler. He could have returned to Aziraphale behaving as he did before Crowley started to invade the bookshop.

But Aziraphale mentioned he had sold a book the previous week.[7] Then there was the comment about how expensive it would be to replace the glass if Crowley had broken into the bookshop through the window. Crowley took a moment to summon the appropriate level of casualness.

“Bookshop doing okay?”

“Fine, as ever really. I just, I know it’s never been much of a money-maker,[8] but I want to show that I can make it work without my family’s finances being involved. I’ve started doing book restoration too.”

“Fair enough. The books you decided to take scuba diving okay?” Aziraphale bustled through with a bottle wine and an approximation of toast as attempted by a volcano.

“Their owner knows nothing, and I intend to keep it that way.” Aziraphale crunched into his toast and frowned. Crowley hid behind his glasses as his friend’s gaze flicked his way and then back at speed. He wasn’t going to ask Crowley to do anything, but Aziraphale clearly wanted to ask. So Crowley pulled out his phone trying not to grin.

“I fancy that weird Peruvian place that does the kebab things.” He really didn’t. Half the food was hot enough he couldn’t even taste the wine afterwards. But Aziraphale liked it.

“Anticuchos. Not the too spicy ones, won’t work with the wine.”

“Anything else, Angel?”

When the doorbell rang, Crowley answered on the grounds that Aziraphale was busy finding more wine. He was rewarded with Aziraphale’s post and no food. Several boring letters, a handwritten one which Crowley suspected was from the book collector in Wales that Aziraphale had taken to exchanging insults with, and a parcel.

A discreet parcel. Very discreet. Suspiciously so. Crowley recognised the style immediately.

“Post.” Aziraphale glanced up and then looked horrified. Crowley held the parcel towards Aziraphale only to have it snatched from his hand and shoved under Aziraphale’s desk. “Anything interesting?”

“Hmm? Oh no, I’m sure it’s nothing. I ordered some more glue for binding the books.”

“You could check?”

“No need, my dear. I haven’t ordered anything else recently.”

“Could be from somebody else?”

“Hardly.” Aziraphale tried to surreptitiously hide the box between two book piles near his desk.[9] Any doubt Crowley had disappeared with Aziraphale’s insistence it wasn’t anything interesting. Crowley could spot the painfully discreet packaging a mile off. It helped that several websites he was well acquainted with had near identical thoughts on how to package sex toys.

Crowley had to bite the inside of his cheeks to avoid laughing. He was happy that Aziraphale had decided to update whatever Victorian assortment was squirreled away upstairs. And if rooting through Crowley’s own collection had been the inspiration, well that was absolutely going to be masturbation material for the next week. At least. He should have checked the boring return address so he could narrow down the possibilities, but it wasn’t like it was a hardship to think through all the options. Well it was, but that was the point.

“I’m not going to steal your glue. Nothing interesting comes packed like that.” Aziraphale seemed to calm in an instant.

“Of course not. You’d hardly be able to fit it in those jeans.”

“Is that a challenge, Angel?” Aziraphale turned red and fled to the kitchen. Crowley stared at the space previously occupied by Aziraphale. Probably shouldn’t apologise, would make it worse. Would definitely destroy the plausible deniability regarding Aziraphale’s snooping the week before, and the potentially related contents of the parcel. No to apologising them. “What? You forget to turn the oven off?”

“Oh hush, I was just checking.” Crowley smiled and reached for his wine. Crisis averted.

**

“Does it have to go there?” Crowley fought the urge to shoo Aziraphale away in his own book shop.

“Angel, I know what I’m doing.”

“It just seems a bit, off. Shouldn’t it go in there?” Crowley batted away Aziraphale’s hand.

“It’s not finished.”

“The red and black aren’t quite,”

“I’ll change the colours later. Go discourage customers or something.”

“I closed an hour ago, I thought you said this wouldn’t take too long.” Crowley leant back in the chair. He had said that setting up some social media sites for Aziraphale’s book restoration wouldn’t take long. It certainly shouldn’t have. But Crowley wanted it to be perfect.[10] Crowley knew he was being an idiot. The type of person who had billion-year-old books that needed special glue, and yes Aziraphale had produced a tube following the previous evenings discussion,[11] were not going to be worried about the kerning in an email address.[12] Crowley knew that. It was still the best-looking email address on the internet.

Asking Aziraphale how book restoration was going had been more uncomfortable than Crowley had anticipated. Mostly because Aziraphale seemed to waver between forcing a far too eager smile and being close to tears. Crowley had stumbled on the problem when he asked about advertising. Aziraphale had sent in notices to two newsletters, only one of which was printed.[13] Crowley’s offer to set up Aziraphale online had been met with little enthusiasm until Crowley promised Aziraphale would not need to do anything himself. He had been set up on his laptop most of the day receiving a never-ending stream of coffee from Aziraphale. Quite a few customers thought Crowley sitting at the counter with his laptop meant they had a better chance of purchasing the books. There was a small pile of books under Crowley’s laptop had grown with each attempt.[14]

“I’ve set you to come up if people search for book restoration or anything like that. I’ll let you fill in the long bits.”

“When you say the long bits,”

“The technical stuff, prices, long words that let people know you know what you’re doing. Once it gets going a bit, I can show you how to put up before and after photos, people will like those.”

“I know how to take photos.”

“Angel, I will eat this laptop if you have a digital camera.”

“Crowley, my dear, I do appreciate you doing all this for me, I wouldn’t know where to start.” Crowley uploaded the latest page. Bee was going to be pissed at him when they found out, but technically Crowley was in the clear. The book restoration was nothing to do with the family business. Entirely separate business venture and only Aziraphale would benefit from it.

“but?”

“I can’t really pay you for all this.”

“Angel, do you really think I am expecting money for this?”

“Well, I hoped not but I felt I should check.”

“I offered. Friends do favours, right?” Crowley glanced up to Aziraphale hoping he hadn’t heard the uncertainty creep into his words. They were friends, people who weren’t friends didn’t plan most of their social lives around when the other was free. 

“I, yes. Thank you.”

“It’s fine, Angel. I probably drink enough of your wine to be ahead anyway.” Aziraphale smiled but it was hesitant. “What?”

“I don’t want to take advantage; I do understand you have done a lot already even if I don’t grasp all of it.” Aziraphale grabbed two folders from his desk. “Are you any good at taxes? I used to just send them to Sandalphon.”

“Thought you were going to ask for a kidney or something. I can do taxes; how much do you want to pay?” Crowley grabbed the folders and flicked through them. Invoices, receipts, a fiver that Crowley nearly pocketed on reflex.

“How much do I, isn’t that something they work out?”

“I mean yeah, but you don’t have to pay that much.” The folders disappeared back into Aziraphale’s arms.

“Crowley, I am not about to start committing tax evasion.”

“No, of course you’re not.” The tone the words slipped out in had been far too fond for Crowley’s liking. He closed his laptop and tried for something less telling. “I don’t know how to do it legally. There’s books and stuff, but I mostly make up numbers and then change trading names quickly enough that they can’t track it.”

“Books. I can read books.” Crowley nodded and handed the five-pound note that had fallen out of the folder back to Aziraphale.

* * *

[1] She reorganised two tutorials and sent Newt to her book group to make sure she didn’t miss anything interesting. Newt had not been reading the book and would struggle to work out whether they were discussing Mrs Cambritt’s cat with terrible yeast infection, or something more horrifying. He wasn’t brave enough to question if she was even a character in Wuthering Heights.

[2] If at least half wasn’t alcohol why was it being drunk? Exceptions were made for espresso as the alcohol usually made it cool down too quickly.

[3] During one of Anathema’s early trips to the bookshop she had employed this tactic for twenty minutes. Aziraphale was using the same technique. The result was two cold cups of tea and an uneasy truce over supervised access to some of his rarer prophetic works. Their friendship after that was built on a solid base of biscuits and actually drinking the tea.

[4] Statistically likely paths based on living in close proximity.

[5] Aziraphale was under no illusions that if that had actually been Crowley’s plan he would hardly have to try.

[6] In his defence, an inventory of the bookshop would take longer than the human race has left on Earth.

[7] Mentioned was generous term. He had fretted over it being looked after properly. Crowley had been tempted to reacquire it for him for a suitable present giving occasion. Except there was already a small pile waiting for their chance.

[8] Crowley, having looked into business extensively when he spotted Aziraphale at a party rather than one of his siblings, worked very hard not to laugh.

[9] He nearly knocked one of them over.

[10] Crowley had already decided he was not going to examine that desire too much. The possibility of it being linked to several Aziraphale-themed thoughts that were -in a shocking twist- also being ignored, was too high.

[11] A half-empty, clearly not new tube. Neither of them mentioned these facts.

[12] Aziraphale had agreed to the email address on the condition that he didn’t have to reply to anything. Crowley set up an auto-reply to read that the internet connection at the shop was temperamental and to please call instead.

[13] The second newsletter was surprised to find it even had a postal address. They had no idea what to do with the three-page letter that was received.

[14] There was also a tea towel because Crowley was fairly certain ‘laptop stand’ was not an acceptable use of Aziraphale’s books

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I split the chapter for reasons. The next (last for now) chapter should be up in a day or two but it's 2am and I haven't had nearly enough caffeine to keep going on it for now.


	13. What Happens in Vegas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For reasons of not ruining the ending, this chapter runs chronologically and just misses out the rest of the post-marriage scenes.

“Do you even have a passport?” An empty wine glass was thrust towards Aziraphale in response to the question. He filled it, Aziraphale wasn’t sure he would get an actually reply until he did. While Crowley’s bookshop visits were less frequent than they had been, the seemingly arbitrary choices of what questions to answer were unchanged.[1] Although Crowley had switched from declaring something work related to either not replying or an incredibly obvious change of topic. Aziraphale wasn’t sure that was an improvement.

“’Course I have a passport. I’m not going to try to leave the country without one.”

“It’s hardly the most ridiculous thing you’ve tried, my dear.”

“Ridiculous? My work isn’t ridiculous.”

“The sailor outfit.”

“I thought you liked that one, Angel.” What followed that statement was the frantic noise as Aziraphale fighting to avoid coughing up wine. Crowley didn’t seem to notice, which was a blessing. Or he was just being polite, which seemed unlikely. “Worked well, I thought. Good value too. Used that three times I have.”[2]

And didn’t that conjure images. Aziraphale had been struggling to avoid thinking about Crowley in such outfits, the least he could do it not do so while Crowley was actually in the bookshop. He shouldn’t have mentioned it. Wouldn’t have, except they were comfortably into their fourth bottle of wine and neither of them were paying enough attention to steer the conversation away from any potentially difficult topics.

“The nanny outfit then. You looked like a demonic Mary Poppins.” That was a safer topic, except Crowley looked far less relaxed than he had a minute ago.

“I would be an excellent nanny.”

“Crowley, every other word out of your mouth is completely inappropriate for children.”

“It’s not that fucking bad. Thought you’d be in favour of expanding their voc, vol, vocabulary.”

“I would be if it were less crude.”

“They’d hear it somewhere, Angel.”

“Not from their nanny.”

“That’s not the important bit. Who gives a fuck what they might pick up? Important bit is keeping ‘em safe.” Crowley grabbed the wine bottle to refill their glasses. Well, his own glass at least. Aziraphale, in a moment of drunken diplomacy realised it was time to move the conversation to safer topics. Not that he was sure why Crowley had become quite so defensive.

“Well, your outfit was ridiculous anyway.”

“I can pack it if you want to see it again.”

“I need to pack. What time is the flight?”

“Too early, s’why we started drinking before you even closed the shop.”

“Did I close the shop?”

“Flipped the sign when I came in. Should prob’ly check for customers though.”[3] Aziraphale paused as he weighed up if closing the shop would require leaving his chair.

“I’ll do it once we’ve finished the wine.” 

Crowley had waved off Aziraphale’s offers of staying the night in favour of meandering his way back to Mayfair. Aziraphale had attempted to suggest he should get a cab at least, but Crowley had rolled his eyes and sidled out the door without further comment. It was probably for the best, Aziraphale needed to finish packing anyway. He’d meant to do so the previous day but had held off in the hopes of avoiding creases in his clothes.[4] Not that it was the clothes were the difficult part of packing, Aziraphale had even dug out some of his more adventurous bow ties.[5]

As was often the case, the issue Aziraphale had with packing was Crowley. He’d accepted that it made perfect sense to take his usual pyjamas with him. Granted he had taken those from Crowley’s flat. That was entirely incidental. Whereas debating whether he should take a larger bottle of lube – given the amount of time he was expecting to spend in Crowley’s presence – was definitively not.

It wasn’t that he was expecting to use it _with_ Crowley. He was just very aware that he spent more time than was probably acceptable thinking of that scenario. Well, multiple scenarios. Honestly at this point it was more of an ongoing epic. Crowley himself hadn’t indicated he wanted anything like that. Which was _fine_. Aziraphale could understand that. It was just his imagination that was still in denial.

It wasn’t as though thinking about Crowley in that way was new, although he had avoided doing so while they weren’t speaking. Mostly. He’d made an effort. It was those damn hips. Although Aziraphale would be hard pressed to find an area of Crowley he didn’t spend far too much time thinking about. It didn’t help that Crowley didn’t acknowledge his effect on Aziraphale at all. While it was a blessing in some ways;[6] while there was still the possibility that Crowley just didn’t know, it was torture. Especially when Crowley got drunk enough to flirt.[7] It was always just a passing comment, nothing particularly telling but it flustered Aziraphale without end. If he didn’t know better, he’d think Crowley was doing it on purpose.[8]

Aziraphale opened his bedside table and then paused. He wanted to take some of his newer purchases with him. He had certainly been enjoying his own expanded sex toy collection, even if it did come with the danger that Crowley might open his post and stumble across something embarrassing. However, the thought of security finding anything questionable, or worse, doing so in front of Crowley meant that they were going to stay firmly at home. He closed the drawer, and then opened it again because he was almost done packing and the image of Crowley in his ridiculous sailor outfit had been haunting him for hours.

### *

“Everyone has a bad passport photograph.”

“Nope.” It was far too early to be arguing with Aziraphale. Despite drinking at least as much as Crowley the previous evening, he was far more awake. A morning person. Crowley had downed enough espresso to make it to the airport, but it was making him twitchy as they queued for security. He settled for scrolling through his phone and ignoring the sign above them telling him not to. Bad at reading signs was less likely to be an issue than twitchy and nervous.

“Even Gabriel has a bad passport photograph. No one avoids that.” Crowley handed his passport across to Aziraphale. He opened it flicking through to the photo page, his smile at Crowley’s offering dropped as he took in the photo.

“Told you.”

“Crowley, you have sunglasses on.”

“Yup.”

“They this isn’t even a passport photo.”

“It’s in my passport.”

“You can’t wear sunglasses in your passport photo.”

“Never had trouble before.”

“And you’re smirking! And it was your birthday three weeks ago, why didn’t you say anything?”

“I don’t really do the whole birthday thing.”

“But you did so much for my birthday.”

“Yeah, because that ended so well.” Crowley shook his head, that was not what he meant to say. “Sorry, it’s early and I’m a complete shit. Birthdays aren’t, I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Quite alright, my dear.” Crowley pretended he couldn’t hear the wobble in Aziraphale’s words. Talking about that wouldn’t end up anywhere good. “Still one of my better birthdays, although I am still finding deflated balloons.”

Past security, Crowley leant against the wall and went back to staring at his phone. Five minutes of watching Aziraphale grow more nervous as additional staff were summoned to inspect his completely legitimate passport was drawing to a close as a fourth person hovered behind the booth. Aziraphale kept shooting him glances for help and it was getting harder to stop himself from laughing. Crowley had been let through without any pause, as usual.

The plane was delayed because that what happened at airports. Awful as always. Crowley drank, and after ‘airport rules’ had been explained sufficiently,[9] Aziraphale conceded he was on holiday and ordered himself a spiked coffee. It would have been nice if Crowley were awake, and not dreading being on an airplane in the near future.

When they finally boarded Crowley folded himself into his seat next to Aziraphale. Newt and Anathema had travelled over earlier in the week and Newt’s smattering of friends were travelling on different flights. Only partly because Crowley had chosen almost full flights for he and Aziraphale, and then messed with the booking page so it wouldn’t load properly for booking the other seats. The result was an empty seat on their row which Aziraphale had claimed for snacks, and no twenty-somethings expecting Crowley to share the vodka he had brought along.

Crowley hated flying, as far as he could tell the only positive was messing with the in-flight entertainment systems. The whole thing was awful and while he knew planes generally didn’t just drop out of the sky, his nerves had not been paying attention in that physics lesson. There was absolutely no way he was going to make Aziraphale put up with him jumping at every single bump. No reason Crowley should have to deal with that himself either, not when there were alternatives. So, alcohol to get through the worse of it, and then a well-timed antihistamine meant that he could sleep through the rest of the flight and not spend hours waiting for the plane to burst into flames around them.

Aziraphale said nothing about this but did prod Crowley to at least try some of the snacks he brought.[10]

Aziraphale planned to also say nothing about Crowley falling asleep on his shoulder around the point the seatbelt sign turned off. He felt a tad guilty about not disturbing him, Crowley would be embarrassed after all. But it was quite nice, even with the occasional inaudible mutterings that pulled Aziraphale out of whatever he was reading only to realise that Crowley was still asleep and would not be repeating whatever it was. While Crowley had claimed Aziraphale’s shoulder, and some of his arm, he had surrendered the arm rest between them which was positioned nicely for Aziraphale to balance his book on.

### *

“Never have I ever been to England.” To his right, Crowley rolled his eyes before drinking his tequila.

“Is it considered going if you are from England. It’s not somewhere I go, it’s where I am.”

“Just drink, Angel.” Aziraphale accepted the shot glass from Crowley.

“Who decided on tequila anyway?” A blonde, whose name Aziraphale had forgotten almost immediately upon hearing one of the other women squeal it, beamed at him.

“It’s fun.”

“It’s cheaper. Not imported and the whisky here is awful.” Crowley’s muttered reply came as he dipped the glasses back in the salt bowl and refilled the glasses. The group of them, were something of an unlikely group. Not the six young women who appeared to have known each other since birth but rather he and Crowley sat on the same table as them. Anathema and Newt had returned to the hotel because they had forgotten something.[11]

“Never have I ever gone commando.” That one was from Kelly who giggled before drinking her own shot.

“Isn’t the idea of this game to make other people drink?” Crowley drank his shot, and Aziraphale’s.

“Angel, it’s not exactly the most rigorous rule set. We’re trying to get everyone drunk.” Crowley was topping up glasses again. “On that note, never have I ever repaired a book.”

“Crowley!” Crowley shrugged.

“As if the nun question wasn’t aimed at me.” Aziraphale drank the shot, the last half dozen hadn’t improved the flavour.

“Was it a sexy nun?” Kelly had apparently forgotten that she asked that only a few minutes earlier.

“Aren’t all nuns sexy?” The dodge threw Kelly’s line of questioning. The few brain cells of hers that Aziraphale had seen evidence of, put to working out if Crowley was being serious. Then again, that had been his response the first time she asked. There was a chance she was trying to pin him down on an actual answer.

“I got one,” there was half a minute while the woman Aziraphale felt was named after a flower tried to remember what she had come up with. “Never have, never have I ever been arrested.” Crowley drank again, as did half the table.

“Shot for each time!” That was the blonde again, Aziraphale was fairly sure her name began with an A and ended in a frequency above the range of human hearing. Crowley shrugged and picked up the bottle of tequila,

“We’re going to need another bottle.”

Half a bottle later, Aziraphale was noticing a pattern. Or maybe a pattern. Alice[12] would ask something that made a few people drink, Kelly would ask something sex based, and then Crowley would ask something that made sure Aziraphale drank.[13] Kelly would then try to get details from Crowley about her question. Crowley would obfuscate, and the whole thing would repeat. The message from Anathema that something had come up at the hotel and they would see everybody in a few hours meant that Crowley won the bets on if they had disappeared for sex, and had earnt enough to cover the alcohol for the night.

“Never have I ever had sex in a bar.” Crowley sighed next to him at Kelly’s question, he might have noticed the same thing Aziraphale had.

“Define bar. And sex for that matter.” Aziraphale used the ensuing laughter to sneak his own drink without Crowley noticing.

Most of another bottle later, Crowley still hadn’t noticed Kelly’s ongoing attempts to flirt. Aziraphale was trying not to let it get to him, but really there’s only so many times a person can try to lick salt seductively and wince at the taste without getting annoyed. Amber[14] seemed equally bored and had valiantly tried to defend her seat next to Crowley as Kelly scooted closer and closer. The unavoidable bathroom trip mean that Kelly was now leaning so far towards Crowley she was in danger of falling from the stool. Crowley, while blissfully unaware of the ongoing situation, had not taken well to the lack of personal space and was clearly in silent negotiations with Amy to swap seats. Relocation talks with Anabel broke down quickly when Kelly touched Crowley’s arm to get his attention. Aziraphale wasn’t sure Crowley’s feet actually hit the floor before announcing he needed to piss and disappeared. Kelly nearly overbalanced before she decided that she also needed the toilets.

Relieved at the lull in Kelly’s unending flirtation Aziraphale pulled Crowley’s empty stool closer to his own. Somehow he suspected Crowley would be okay being in close proximity to him, if it meant more distance from Kelly.

“Lucky Kelly.” That was the flower one, Daisy. She was immediately chastised by Alicia before the group started giggling.

“Hmm?” More giggling, which was worrying. Aziraphale looked around, he saw what could have been Kelly’s dress disappearing into the gents’ toilets. Which was odd. Unless she hadn’t realised they weren’t unisex, and had followed Crowley in there by accident.

Or on purpose.

Aziraphale drank his shot and poured another. There was no reason for him to be upset. Crowley didn’t even realise. It was ridiculous to be upset. Even if Crowley did know, and there was some coded way to pour tequila to signal a rendezvous in the bathroom, it was absolutely fine. Granted, Aziraphale would have preferred to not be left with a group of strangers now discussing their previous bar hookups. Still, Crowley was on holiday too. He was allowed to enjoy himself. If that was enjoyable. Aziraphale was rather surprised that would fit within Crowley’s range of interests, although that was probably Aziraphale being old-fashioned. It was certainly more common to hear that people being more flexible when it came to their sexual preferences in recent years. While Aziraphale was absolutely certain Crowley wasn’t straight, that left an awful lot of the Kinsey Scale unaccounted for.[15]

Aziraphale took another shot and glanced to the clock. It had been almost five minutes.[16] Crowley hadn’t left the bathroom. Not that Aziraphale was watching for that. He was just seated facing that direction. What if something, something _else_ had happened? There could have slipped on a puddle of questionable liquid. Head injuries bled out quickly. No one could blame him for checking to ensure all parties were accounted for and not at risk of imminent death. He would just give it another minute and see what happened. No need to interrupt anything that wasn’t medical emergencies.

“Why the fuck is it still so warm outside?” Relief flooded Aziraphale[17] as Crowley appeared next to him and slid into his stool.

“Crowley?”

“Hmm?”

“You went to the bathroom, why were you outside?”

“It was too busy. There were people.”

“People.” Aziraphale shouldn’t have pictured it. Other bathroom occupants and a side door leading somewhere more private.[18]

“Well, person.” Crowley dumped out his shot into an empty candle holder before pouring a fresh one and drinking it. “Wrong person.”

“ _Ah_ ,”

The wrong person returned a few minutes later apparently oblivious. “We should do body shots!” Kelly held up the bottle of tequila and held it towards Crowley. Crowley froze for a second with an expression Aziraphale recognised as the end of his patience.

“Sure.” He spun round to face Aziraphale with a wide grin. “Alright Angel, where am I licking?”

“Crowley!”

“What? She suggested body shots.” Crowley’s face was so innocent Aziraphale would have believed him. Had Crowley not pulled that same face every time he was accused of doing something that he had clearly done.[19]

“I meant,” Kelly faltered her explanation and sat down quietly.

“I know what you meant, and while I’m flattered, I’m also not that straight.” Kelly blushed,

“Oh, sorry. I didn’t realise you two were,” Crowley responded before Aziraphale realised what she had been saying.

“It’s fine, you girls should head off and go have fun. Leave us grownups to it.”

Aziraphale waited until the rest of their table had wobbled their way out of the building before trying to wrap his head round what Crowley had said. Or rather, not said. Not corrected at least.

Objectively, there was absolutely no way he had misread the situation that badly. Regardless of all the hypothetical farces his brain insisted he could be living in; he wasn’t in a relationship with Crowley. He would know. Wouldn’t he? _Yes_ , yes he absolutely would and he really needed to get a handle on that before Crowley noticed he was biting the insides of his cheeks to stop something incredibly stupid coming out of his mouth.

“Sorry ‘bout that, Angel. Didn’t want to ruin her night.” Aziraphale knew the casual tone of Crowley’s words shouldn’t have hurt.

“No, no I completely understand. That was very kind of you.” Except it wasn’t. If Crowley wanted to be kind, he wouldn’t have said that. He knew how Aziraphale felt and he completely disregarded it to save the feelings of Kelly the Toilet-Hunter.

“’m not kind.”

“You let her down very gracefully.”

“Nah, just wanted to,” Crowley cut himself off apparently not wanting to share that wit Aziraphale. “Wine? Probably taste like shit after all the tequila.”

“Cocktails, I think we deserve them after that.” And Aziraphale deserved the five minutes he excused himself to the bathroom to remind himself that Crowley was his friend and that was it.

Crowley leant on the table and sniggered to himself.

“Can’t believe you had sex in a bar.”

“I live in SoHic- SoHo. Lots of people have sex in that bar.” Aziraphale assumed that was still the case. He wasn’t entirely sure that particular bar was even still open.

“An orgy? Where’s, was my invite?”

“My dear, I didn’t even know you. And it wasn’t an orgy.”

“So, so, so you would have invited me if you did?” Aziraphale was thankful his face had been pink from the alcohol for several hours already, the blush would have given him away completely.

“Crowley.”

“What?”

“No, I, no. Why were, wait,” Aziraphale steadied his glass on the table. It wasn’t as good as their third cocktails had been, but it was still very drinkable. “Why were you wearing a kilt?”

“What?”

“The wet books. You were in a kilt.” Crowley shrugged as he spun his glasses around in his fingers.

“All groomsmen look the same.”

“I see.” Aziraphale rolled his straw in his mouth while he considered Crowley’s answer. “No, I don’t see. I really don’t.”

“Big posh place, fancy. Annoying security, but there’s a wedding reception. So it’s, it’s late, stupid o’clock. Staff just see the kilt and hope I’m not off to go throw up in a bin.”

“Oh, but I ruined,” Crowley waved Aziraphale off before he could apologise.

“Nah s’fine. Went in a few days later at a different wedding. Same kilts.”

“But bagpipes,”

“You can’t expect me to half arse it. Besides, if I play ‘em a bit,[20] I can say I’m hiding ‘em from the drunk bastard that was playing. They’re too happy the noise stopped to question it.”

It was the most information Aziraphale had got from Crowley about his job. Other than when he had been watching the garden party chaos.

“So actually, I should have got you drunk and then asked about how you work?” Crowley held up a finger, it knocked against his nose twice before he managed to get it in front of his mouth.

“Ssssssssssshhhh, secret. Shouldn’t have told you that.”

“Why?”

“You work for heavenly, family thing.”

“No I don’t. Told Gabriel to leave me alone.”

“That’s not,”

“I sold my inter- stake things. They gave me the shop.” Crowley finished his drink in silence and then stared at Aziraphale.

“Wait, fuck I’m drunk. You and that lot,”

“My family,”

“Cunts.”

“Sh-, shouldn’t insult fa-, femane- _anyone’s_ anatomy, my dear.”

“But the business is separate, Angel? Separated separate. Completely? Not part of any of it?”

“For months. Why did you think I was selling books?” Crowley picked up his glass only to realise it was still empty.

“I did consider a brain tumour.”

“I’m not that bad.”

“You are. That’s not.” Crowley moved back in his stool, as if he suddenly realised how close they had been sitting.

“Crowley?”

“Can I buy you a drink?”

“You already did.”

“Yeah, but I mean in a, fuck I’m useless at this. Ignore me.” Crowley slipped from the table to get more drinks. Which he paid for, but that was hardly anything new. Aziraphale barely waited for Crowley to sit down.

“What did you mean by this?” Crowley froze, turned, and went back to the bar. He returned with several shots of vodka which he shared with himself.[21]

“Aziraphale, I like you a lot. Like a lot. I know,”

“Oh.” That had been unexpected. Crowley looked like he was going to his own execution. He hadn’t even sat down.

“Sorry, I mean it’s,”

“I don’t mind.”

“Right. I think generally people buy someone a drink and see if they’re interested.”

“Yes, but you already bought me a drink. Quite a few actually.”

“Your right, shouldn't be, it's important it can wait ‘til we're sober.” Aziraphale, in a dash of brilliance or stupidity, and really that depended on how things went, grabbed Crowley’s arm.

“No.” Crowley raised his eyebrows.

“No?”

“I meant, maybe we can skip that bit.”

“I see.” It was barely a second before Crowley was close enough Aziraphale could almost feel the body heat. Without his glasses Aziraphale could see Crowley’s eyes move between meeting Aziraphale’s own and trying to over-analyse his expression. “How many more steps do you think we can skip?”

* * *

Aziraphale suspected that had Anathema been in the room she would have accuse Aziraphale of breaking Crowley. As it was, Aziraphale wasn’t totally certain he hadn’t. He hadn’t responded to Aziraphale after he aired his suspicions, although Aziraphale wasn’t entirely sure that confirmed them. Crowley’s approach to questions he didn’t want to answer was generally to ignore them completely.

He was surprised when Crowley moved away from the wall and headed for the door. There was a rather undignified scramble over the bed as Aziraphale kicked himself free of the covers to make sure Crowley didn’t just disappear. The completely unnecessary sheet made a rather nefarious attempt to trip him up as his feet hit the floor.

“You’re leaving?” Crowley fought to get his shoes on without looking away from the door.

“Can we _please_ pretend I’m getting out of this with some dignity intact?”

“That’s not,”

“We don’t need to talk about this. I don’t _want_ to talk about this. I’ll just fill in the form and put it in the office. And then we can go back to,”

“I don’t want that.”

“Fine you don’t have to ever see me again. I just,”

“No Crowley, I don’t” Aziraphale took a breath, he couldn’t even begin to explain what he was thinking. He was fairly certain his brain hadn’t been entirely present for the debate on how to stop Crowley leaving. His legs had managed to coordinate to get him to Crowley and then his arms did something and then he was kissing Crowley.

It would have been better if Crowley hadn’t squeaked and dropped out of Aziraphale’s grip to crash to the floor. Aziraphale looked down, Crowley folded in on himself. He was crying. Which wasn’t ideal. Aziraphale tried not to worry too much about that. Crowley might squeak every time he was kissed. He’d definitely made a similar noise the night of Aziraphale’s birthday.

The crying was harder to minimize. It raised rather awkward questions about how much he had misinterpreted Crowley’s actions.

“Crowley,”

“Please don’t do this. I can’t, I,” Desperation tinged the look Crowley gave him. Aziraphale sat down next to Crowley. He could fix this. He wasn’t sure how exactly he was going to do that, but There were other signs though, even if it took a while for Aziraphale to notice them in the small section of his brain that hadn’t abandoned thinking in favour of whiskey. The one Aziraphale was almost annoyed that he missed given his earlier preoccupation on it.

“Why are you still wearing your ring?” Crowley’s hands seemed to travel faster than Aziraphale could track as they both moved out of sight.

"I can't, you can't it just,” Crowley’s words were beginning to take on a tone that Aziraphale recognised as the beginning of a spiralling rant. “I can't do that to you. I love you and you deserve so much more than this, and I can't just,"

"Do you?" Crowley froze, words dying in his mouth. Aziraphale watched as Crowley tensed for a second before shutting down whatever he had been about to say in favour of acting as if everything was fine.

"Hmm?"

"What you said."

"You do. Your terrible at seeing it but," Aziraphale didn’t know why he had expected an actual answer when he had left Crowley the option to avoid it.

"Crowley, you know exactly what I was referring to." The slight grin twitched a bit as Crowley realised he wasn’t going to get away without giving an actual answer.

"Not the bit that you deserve better."

"No Crowley, the bit where you said you loved me."

"Right, thought it might be.”

“Did you mean it?”

The silence was awful. Aziraphale wasn’t certain that each second was actually being stretched out to be at least half a minute long, but it felt like it. The clock ticked mockingly. Crowley didn’t want to answer. Aziraphale’s feet began tingling from the constricted blood flow as he sat leaning against the door,[22] hopefully they wouldn’t actually fall off before Crowley replied. Although that was seeming increasingly unlikely and Aziraphale was terrible at dealing with silences. Aziraphale’s stomach reminded him that it was full of whiskey and if Crowley played his comment off as anything but genuine that liquid would be evicted very quickly.

“I understand if you didn't, Lord knows it's a common enough turn of phrase. I just wanted to be clear. Given the circumstances.”

“Why?” Crowley blinked through tears to meet Aziraphale gaze for a moment before his eyes shot back to stare at the floor. He looked lost. Aziraphale wanted to comfort him, bundle him into a hug and then not let go. Except this was Crowley and the result would probably be a scramble of limbs and Crowley disappearing even with Aziraphale blocking the door. He settled for very slowly reaching and holding Crowley’s hand. His grip was immediately returned, Crowley’s fingers threading through his own.

Aziraphale’s mind was playing the highlight reel of times he should have said something to Crowley. Times Crowley had reached out again and again to be friends. To be more than that, even if he had never said it. Letting Aziraphale stay the night, listening to his family issues, inflating so many balloons Aziraphale had given up on the store ever being entirely free of them. It was Aziraphale’s turn to reach out, even if that meant risking utter humiliation.

“Crowley, I know it’s not perfect and I probably haven’t thought everything through. That said, I love you my dear, and I don’t want us to give up without even trying.”

The universe was too quiet following his confession. Aziraphale had hoped that telling Crowley how he felt would have been a happy occasion. Or at least one that would turn out to be one. He hadn’t wanted an awkward one-sided conversation sat on a floor with the horrible tick of a clock making it obvious how long he had been waiting for a reply. It was devastating.

Except Crowley hadn’t let go of his hand.

_Finally_ , Crowley looked up from the floor. He still wasn’t looking at Aziraphale, but it was an improvement.

“Are you sure?”

“Crowley,”

“Please be sure.”

“Crowley, I would hardly be suggesting we stay married otherwise.”

“Ngk.” Crowley gave a sigh and leant into Aziraphale. It was awkward, neither had considered the potential for such things when they had sat down, and the angle was awful. But Aziraphale wrapped his arms around Crowley who wriggled closer and folded against Aziraphale’s chest.

“Do you want that? I’m not saying we absolutely need to stay married. We could do things in a more conventional order. I just want to know what you want.”

“You. I want you. This. Us. I just I want to be around you, and wake up together, and listen to you prattle on about the audacity of somebody trying to buy something in a shop, and find out what sex toys you were buying after spying on mine, and just, everything.”

“Crowley there's a word for all that.”

“Ngk.”

“I love you too. And I have no desire to pretend I don't want to spend our lives together.”

“Right.”

“What was that about me buying sex toys?”

“Not important.”

* * *

[1] As was the amount of wine they consumed.

[2] Two of those occasions were even legitimately for work purposes.

[3] The last customer to leave the shop had stood at the counter for over an hour in the hopes that the sound of clinking glasses indicated the owner might be drunk enough to accidental sell a book. An overheard comment from Crowley regarding duck penises* had been the final straw before he made his retreat.

* He had forgotten what a corkscrew was called and needed to open more wine. Describing the shape had been the next logical step. Aziraphale was very relieved when Crowley realised it was a screw top and stopped talking about ducks, genitalia and the two in close proximity.

[4] Coincidentally, he’d spent most of the previous day reshelving the copies of Wuthering Heights he had hidden under his desk after a new film adaptation was released in 2011.

[5] He had a novelty bow tie with books on which he was fond of but didn’t wear in the shop in case it made him seem more approachable to customers.

[6] Aziraphale was not looking forward to that conversation.

[7] “Alcohol is a social lubricant.” This footnote is sponsored by Mraowface. The author would like to suggest not using alcohol in the place of actual lubricant.

[8] This is because he absolutely was. Except when he was drunk and defaulted to suggestive comments in lieu of actually listening to Aziraphale debate translations of Dante’s Divine Comedy and argue on whether it was just overly dramatic fanfic. Crowley felt the publication of 50 Shades of Grey helped his argument.

[9] If you aren’t supposed to drink at 7am, why is the bar open?

[10] Aziraphale regretted this when he realised in the ten minutes between him offering and Crowley falling asleep, he had eaten half the chocolate fingers.

[11] Crowley had immediately started a betting pool on whether they would remember to bring an item to the bar on their return, or would admit they had snuck off to have sex.

[12] Her name was Amanda.

[13] Never have I ever dropped a two-hundred-year-old book in a puddle.

[14] Aziraphale’s approach of just to call everyone ‘dear’ and hope he could avoid needing to introduce them had served him well through many a misremembered name.

[15] As well as entire areas of the map Kinsey hadn’t got around to discovering.

[16] Two minutes.

[17] Because there had been no accidentally cracked skulls.

[18] Crowley hadn’t been concerned with other people in the bathroom he had escaped to until he saw a familiar figure approaching in a mirror. At that point he had bolted out of a window, and almost lost a shoe.

[19] Most recently, moving Aziraphale’s bookmark. As if he wouldn’t realise there were fifty skipped pages.

[20] Play here was a charitable definition. Then again, who can tell with bagpipes?

[21] Aziraphale added two to his cocktail while Crowley wasn’t watching.

[22] If by coincidence this stopped Crowley opening it and never returning, that was entirely unintentional.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well it wasn't the three chapter quick fic I was planning to write but it is done and I'm happy with it. I have plans to write a follow up at some point but I need a break to write a fic with dogs. I'm going to go through at fix typos and minor details over the weekend.  
> Thank you for reading.

**Author's Note:**

> So this one got away from me a bit. The plan was amusing one shot, and now there's a full backstory because we all needed that right? I'm going to keep the chapters as a chunk of what happens next and a chunk of backstory which should run chronologically. The planned number of chapters is flexible but there is an outline. Updates will hopefully be approaching regular.


End file.
